


This Unbearable Creature

by redandglenda



Series: Tour Diaries of an American Captain Bassist [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Minor Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Minor Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Minor Sam Wilson/Jessica Jones, Multi, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 18:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11675076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redandglenda/pseuds/redandglenda
Summary: Bucky, Steve, and Sam have been touring with their band for 20 years, ever since they formed it as kids, when Bucky starts to feel like he’s completely unnecessary to their band, and even worse: to their relationship.





	This Unbearable Creature

Bucky wasn’t at the Pitchfork interview back in 2012, but now that they were back on the road with their new album, he thought back on it and hoped that something similar wouldn’t happen again this tour.

***

The Pitchfork interview happened just seven months after Sam had stopped drinking, and Steve later told Bucky that the interviewer was relentless with his questions and spent almost the entirety of the interview talking about Sam’s drinking. The three of them knew that they would get questioned about Sam’s drinking during the last part of their two-year tour for their ‘Winter Soldier’ album. They had planned to be open with the press and, more importantly, the fans about his struggles, but Bucky hadn’t realized how bad the questions could get. Sam came back to the hotel after the interview looking jittery and tight around his eyes, with Steve’s hand curled around his neck to guide him into Bucky’s hotel room.

Bucky stood from where he had been reading on the couch, concerned, took Sam by the arm and pulled him onto the sofa. Steve sank down on Sam’s other side, and wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulders. They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Bucky could practically feel the frustration coming off Sam.

“I’m not an alcoholic, but what I wouldn’t give for a drink right now,” Sam said quietly.

Bucky stiffened slightly, chilled by Sam’s comment. He instinctively looked over Sam to catch Steve’s eye.

Steve met Bucky’s look and lifted his hand from where it was wrapped around Sam to settle it on Bucky’s shoulder and give it a squeeze. He didn’t say anything, but the contact and Steve’s intense gaze settled Bucky immediately, as it always did.

Of course the exchange hadn’t been missed by Sam. “I’m fine, Bucky,” he said. Sam rolled his shoulders back and stretched his neck in what Bucky recognized as part of his pre-show warm-up. He shook himself a bit, as if physically shaking off the interviewer’s words, and then said more firmly, “Fucking interviews.”

Steve agreed, “Fucking interviews.”

Sam sprung up, his usual energy returned. “Come on, let’s go see what Denver has to offer besides fuckwad journalists.” He offered his hands out to Bucky and Steve and pulled them both up from the sofa.

Bucky had always admired Sam’s ability to brush off unpleasant situations so easily. Even during the worst of Sam’s drinking when he had been blacking out every night, he had never let it phase him, starting each day memory-less from the night before, but raring to go as always. That had been one of the main reasons it took Bucky and Steve much longer than it should to realize what a problem the situation had become.

They all their ways of coping: Sam boxed up anything negative and seemed to legitimately forget it existed by pure force of will, Steve wrote everything out and turned it into gorgeous music, and Bucky? Well, okay, maybe he wasn’t as well versed in coping skills as the other two. He mostly withdrew and bottled things up until he was ready to deal with them much later.

The three left the hotel then, and went biking around Phoenix, and it turned into a great day, shitty interview forgotten.

***

Forgotten at least until now, that is. Bucky was decidedly unhappy when he saw that the day’s scheduled interview was with the same interviewer from Pitchfork. Their last interview with Pitchfork was four years ago, and they were in a completely different state this time, so Bucky hadn’t even considered the possibility that Sam would have to face the same guy again. But here they were, waiting in a hotel conference room for the interviewer to come in.

Bucky didn’t want to say anything, because he knew Sam’s ‘don’t dwell on the past’ attitude wouldn’t appreciate the reminder of what happened before, so he kept quiet. Bucky suspected Steve remembered the interview as well since he had insisted on Sam being in the middle of them on the sofa, and had immediately started chatting about baseball scores with Sam.

The interviewer walked in and Bucky tensed, but other than an end to their chatting, the other two didn’t seem to react. Sam was incessantly tapping his left foot, but if he wasn’t moving somehow, he wouldn’t be Sam. Regardless, Bucky spent the whole interview on edge, ready to jump to Sam’s defense if he deemed it necessary, but the whole thing was actually very usual: questions about if they were glad to be touring again, what their favorite songs to perform live were, what it was like touring with their wives back at home, what song they would most like to cover.

Bucky sighed with relief when they were done. Sam and Steve exited the room quickly, probably going back to their rooms to talk to Jessica and Peggy, as they always did after an interview where their wives were mentioned. Bucky made to follow them, but noticed one of his shoelaces was untied, so stopped to tie it. When he stood up, he realized he was alone in the room with the interviewer who was packing up his materials.

“I’m not sure if you know, but I interviewed Steve and Sam a few years ago,” the interviewer said.

Bucky had started to walk away, but stopped at the other man’s voice. “Yes,” he replied tentatively.

“Steve said you grew apart from each other during the worst of Sam’s drinking problems and that if not for the time Sam came to rehearsal still bleeding from the night before, you would have continued ignoring the issue for much longer,” the interviewer said. “I’ve always wanted to ask if you feel like you failed Sam and the band by not addressing his problem earlier? After all, it only took you confronting him once about it for him to stop, isn’t that right?”

Bucky was shocked by the question, though not really at the fact that Steve had yet again shared overly personal information to an interviewer before saying it to Sam or Bucky privately. Bucky and Steve were as close as brothers, but they were shit at talking about deep things. His shock kept him quiet and the interviewer continued.

“If you hadn’t pulled away from each other as Steve said, could you not have also prevented Steve’s depression after Sam’s drinking problem came to light? Real friends would have seen the signs and intervened, surely.” The interviewer hadn’t moved any closer to Bucky and hadn’t changed his tone, but Bucky felt like he was under attack.

He felt a small ball of tension begin to knot in his chest and took in a quick gasp of air before managing to say, “No.” He turned sharply and walked to the door. “Thank you for your time,” he said as he closed it behind him. He hurried through the hotel halls, and, as soon as he was safely back in his room, opened his laptop. He typed ‘american captains 2012 Pitchfork’ into Google and clicked on the link to the interview he had avoided until now.

Bucky watched the four-part YouTube video intently, and was relieved to note that Steve had not said exactly what the interviewer told him. But Steve had sort of... implied it? Bucky gnawed at his lip and tapped his fingers lightly against his keyboard as he tried to work out how to feel about this.

His phone buzzed with a text message from Steve just then, <we’re going for a walk. wanna come?>.

<headache>, Bucky sent back.

A few minutes later Sam texted, <feel better buckaroo>. That meant Steve and Sam were together. It was stupid, but Bucky felt left out suddenly.

Bucky tried to stop his brain from taking a swan dive into the deep end of pessimism, but there it went, _Sam’s telling_ me _to feel better, but I guess I didn’t care enough about him feeling better to get him help before it was almost too late, and what – Steve doesn’t even care enough to answer my texts now?_

On a rational level, Bucky knew that wasn’t right, because obviously Steve cared, and that’s what family was for, right? You forgive your brothers and move on because that’s what families do. The three of them had been through enough since they formed American Captains in high school to count each other firmly as family. Bucky clung to that thought, and took out the bass guitar he had brought up to his hotel room with him. He settled himself on the bed and focused on picking out songs off their B-side albums till he wasn’t thinking about the interview anymore. They didn’t play the B-side tracks often, so it was a good way to forcibly distract himself as he had to concentrate completely on the songs.

After a couple of hours, Bucky stopped playing, suddenly noticing how hungry he was. <Where are you?>, he texted Sam.

<on our way back why>, Sam texted back quickly.

Bucky felt the corner of his mouth twitch slightly at the speed of Sam’s response. Sam never failed to make him feel better just by existing, as he had ever since the day they met in P.E. freshman year. Bucky and Steve had grown up together as neighbors, so Bucky was used to keeping up with Steve’s insane running pace, but his constant speed had evidently pissed Sam off over the first week of classes, and on the Friday he yelled at them as they ran past him.

No one was allowed to be mean to Steve on Bucky’s watch, but Sam’s smile had shown his comment to be sass and not cruelty, and Bucky melted. Steve needed more people in his life sassing him for being his ridiculously fit and polite self, so Bucky slowed down to run with Sam and that was that. Sam made Bucky’s day better then, and he had practically every day since.

<I’m starving. Bring me food.>

<okay princess>

Bucky grinned. He could always count on Sam’s good-natured teasing. The dark thoughts from before were easing up a bit now at the prospect of having his boys with him, their presence always comforting even on his darkest of days.

Soon enough, Sam and Steve pushed into the hotel room bearing bags of good-smelling food. Steve kissed the top of Bucky’s head, “Is your head any better, Bucky?”

Bucky had actually been feeling a bit like he had a cold coming on the last few days, so he didn’t feel guilty when he said, “Yeah, thanks.” Of course that wasn’t the reason he had stayed behind, but he shook off the thought and asked Sam, “What’d you bring me?”

Sam unpacked the bags he had carried in. “Pastrami on rye. Your favorite.”

The familiarity of the scene from the many years of touring and eating cheap food on hotel beds soothed away the last of Bucky’s unease, and he relaxed back onto the headboard to listen to Sam and Steve recount their adventures.

***

That night their show went off without a hitch, and the rush Bucky always got after a good show was enough to distract him from anything he was feeling earlier.

After the encore Steve looped his fingers around Bucky’s wrist and gave him a tug toward the back exit of the venue where Bucky saw Sam waiting, eyes crinkled deeply with the force of his smile

“Hotel night tonight,” Sam reminded Bucky as he bounced lightly on his toes. The three of them were like this after every show, bursting with excess energy they were eager to burn off with each other.

The trip back to the hotel was a blur, but as soon as his room door clicked shut, Bucky was vividly aware of Sam pinning him to the wall to pull Bucky’s clothes off as quickly as he could, kissing him deeply all the while.

They stood there, exchanging sloppy kisses for long minutes, and Bucky relished the feeling of being pinned, entirely naked, between Sam and the door. But something was missing. He glanced over to find Steve getting undressed off to the side, actually taking the time to fold his clothes.

 _Weirdo_ , Bucky thought fondly.

Steve walked over, obviously summoned by Bucky’s thoughts, and used Sam’s shirt to urge him away from Bucky. “Get your clothes off, Sam,” he ordered, before he gently pushed Bucky to his knees in front of him.

Bucky grinned to himself as he trailed his fingers from Steve’s ankles up his legs towards his cock. Steve was always a bit bossy in bed, so one of Bucky’s favorite games was to do what Steve wanted, but super slowly.

"What are you grinnin' at?" Steve asked lowly. He stroked a hand through Bucky's hair, gently pulling at the post-show knots there.

"Nothing," Bucky said. Then he amended, "How great the show was." He had gotten Steve's cock in his hand now, and stroked it lightly to tease Steve.

"It was an amazing show," Sam agreed from where he was now lounging on the bed, clothes strewn across the room. "C'mere."

Steve tightened his hand in Bucky' hair, not letting him move. "No, you. We're happy here," he said, as he used his grip to pull Bucky’s mouth to his cock.

Bucky's gaze met Sam's, and he rolled his eyes fondly in Steve’s direction, just before he opened his mouth and took Steve in.

Sam chuckled, "Alright, you diva," and walked over to Steve and gave him a quick kiss. "I suppose you did just spend the last two hours prancing about on stage like an idiot."

"Not all of us are lazy drummers who can sit around on our asses all day," Steve said, reaching out to pull Sam close by a firm hand on Sam’s aforementioned ass.

Bucky rolled his eyes at the familiar teasing going on above him, and kept up his rhythm of bobbing up and down on Steve's cock. Bucky loved this, especially after a show when they were all still keyed up and everything felt just that much more intense. He buried his nose in Steve's happy trail, breathing in heavily and swallowing around Steve's cock, staying there as long as he could.

Steve's breath caught at the feeling, and his bickering with Sam trailed off. Steve and Sam always talked a lot during sex, and on days when they didn't have a show, Bucky did too. But on show days, Bucky liked to concentrate on the physical sensations of the three of them together, and often stayed silent. They were so in tune with each other on stage, that Bucky always came off stage buzzing with the need to touch them and reassure himself of the connection he felt on stage with them.

Sam's hand joined Steve's in Bucky hair, and he used it to pull Bucky back slightly, "We have a show the day after tomorrow. Don't fuck up your throat, Barnes."

Bucky hummed his assent, which made Steve groan with the sensation.

“Don’t be a killjoy, Sam,” Steve said, pulling Sam into a deep kiss, as an obvious distraction technique.

It clearly worked. Sam sighed happily and thrust inelegantly against Steve’s hip, which pushed Steve forward, and caused his cock to slip deeper down Bucky’s throat.

Bucky smiled as well he could around Steve’s cock at Sam inadvertently causing Bucky to go against his advice. To give Sam more room, Bucky moved his hands from their grip on Steve’s hips down to his thighs, and he softly traced Steve’s tattoo on the front of his thigh as he went. The three of them had gotten matching tattoos of the shield artwork Steve had designed for their self-titled album years ago, and Bucky still loved seeing it.

Steve gasped at the ticklish feel of Bucky’s hands, “Till the end of the line. Right, Captains?”

Sam huffed, amused, and Bucky pulled off Steve’s cock to smile up at him. Bucky stood up gracefully, then, catching one of Sam’s hands and one of Steve’s hands, and dragged them both to bed. They fell down together, laughing and reaching for each other.

***

Bucky snapped awake the next morning to a loud knock on the door, and heard their tour manager, Darcy, yelling that it was time to go.

“She’s got a pair of lungs on her,” Sam said sleepily.

On the other side of Sam, Steve had already sat up and was beginning to pull on his clothes, neatly laid out from last night. “Up and at ‘em, boys,” he said cheerfully.

Bucky just groaned and pulled his pillow over his face. He must have drifted off to sleep for a bit because the next thing he knew Sam was pulling him to a sitting position and pressing a cup into his hand. “Steve’s already packed your things. You just need to get down to the bus,” Sam said quietly. “I got you coffee.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, still not opening his eyes. He cracked one eye open so he could take a fortifying sip of coffee before he began to search for clothes to wear.

Sam chuckled and said, “Here, sleepyhead.” He gently placed a stack of Bucky’s clothes on his lap for him.

Bucky got dressed in silence and allowed himself to be led out of the hotel and onto their tour bus. Mornings belonged in the fifth circle of hell as far as he was concerned. Hotel nights were great because they meant sex where they didn’t have to fuck on the bus floor or try to contort themselves into tiny bunks, but they also meant early checkouts, which were the bane of Bucky’s existence. He honestly didn’t know how Steve was always so alert in the mornings. Steve had been that way his whole life, whereas Bucky and Sam always took much longer to wake up fully. Another reason they hadn’t noticed Sam was anything but a normal amount of tired on mornings after he had been blacking out drin –

Bucky cut off the thought, not wanting to get back to what had caused his low mood the day before, and gulped at his coffee, which had started to get cold.

By then, they had arrived at the bus, and Sam deposited Bucky on the couch next to Steve.

Bucky hmm’d at Steve in greeting, then closed his eyes and rested his head on Steve’s shoulder, easily drifting back to sleep.

When Bucky woke later, his head was resting comfortably in Sam’s lap and he was laid out along the couch.

Sam noticed him waking and said, “Good morning, sleeping beauty.” His eyes were sparkling and his grin was wide.

 _He’s beautiful_ , Bucky thought sappily. “Morning,” he said. It came out more like a croak than a word. Bucky coughed and tried again, “Morning.” Definitely clearer, though still not great if the sudden look of concern on Sam’s face was anything to go by.

“Damn it, I _told_ you to be careful last night,” Sam said sharply. It was aimed at Steve, who was sat leaning against the couch watching a film.

Bucky jumped in before Steve could take the blame, “I’ve been run down the last couple of days, Sam, it’s just a bit of a cold. I’m fine.”

Steve added, “He did have that headache yesterday.”

Sam considered this with narrowed eyes for a moment, but then allowed, “Okay, but you have to take it easy today, Buck.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and said grouchily, “You’re not my ma.”

“If I were, maybe the two of you would listen to me now and then,” Sam said faux-remorsefully, raising his hands up as if praying for patience.

Steve snorted, and Bucky agreed with the sentiment. Out of the three of them, Steve was usually the one moderating the other two when they got in full-on antics mode. Not that Steve wasn’t almost always ready to participate in said antics, he was just a bit more aware of people’s opinions of them.

“What are we watching, then?” Bucky asked. He rolled onto his side, still keeping his head in Sam’s lap, so he could see the TV.

“Thin Red Line,” Steve answered without looking away from the TV. “Awesome soundtrack. It just started so you haven’t missed Journey to the Line.”

Bucky grinned. One of his favorite things about Steve was how much he loved all kinds of music. Bucky knew some rock musicians scorned anything other than rock, but Steve was passionate about every kind of music there was, from classical, like this Hans Zimmer score, to rap, and everything in between. Bucky tugged at Steve’s hair to get him to look back at him.

Steve obligingly tilted his head back to look at Bucky. “Yes,” he drew out the word for a couple of seconds.

“Nothing,” Bucky smiled. He was just happy to have Steve there, being his usual dorky self, happy to share his interests with Bucky. “Thanks for the coffee earlier.”

Steve smiled back, “No problem.”

***

It should have taken only a few hours on the bus to get from Indianapolis to Chicago, but there was traffic, and they didn’t get to their new hotel till after 2. They didn’t have a show that night, so they dropped their stuff in their respective hotel rooms and converged in Sam’s room to decide what to do with their free afternoon.

“I want to go to Millennium Park,” Bucky said.

“We were thinking Wrigley Field,” Steve said.

“Yeah, parks are everywhere, but the Cubs are playing today,” Sam said excitedly.

After being cooped up on the bus, Bucky wanted to walk around, not sit and watch baseball for hours, so he said, “Meet you back here later, then.”

Sam and Steve looked a bit surprised, since they usually all picked one thing to do, but after glancing briefly at each other Steve said, “Okay, have fun.”

They all walked out of the hotel together and split up from there.

Bucky knew he shouldn’t be annoyed that they hadn’t fought for him to go with them, but he was still feeling a bit raw after that interviewer’s awkward questions, and it left him feeling more unwanted than usual.

It was like a switch had been flicked in Bucky’s brain. He had been fine for the last six months, and then he blinked and he was depressed. Bam. Just like that. Rationally he knew that he’d probably been on a downward spiral for a bit and only just noticed it now, but it still felt abrupt.

With the realization fresh in his head, Bucky didn’t want to go out anymore. He didn’t want to chance that a fan would recognize him and force him to talk, when all he wanted to do was curl up and not have to interact with anyone. The suddenness of the onset of his negative feelings overwhelmed him, and Bucky turned back into the hotel quickly, afraid that his feelings were written on his face. Bucky knew he was prone to overthinking and overreacting, but it hadn’t hit him this hard in a while. The last few times this had happened, Natasha had been there to remind him to get out of his head and not let himself be pulled even more deeply into the low feelings.

With that in mind, Bucky texted her on his way back up to his hotel room, <Are you busy?>

He sat on the bed while he waited for her response, just staring blankly at his phone. It was ten minutes before he got back, <Yeah, sorry, babe – work is super busy atm, can we talk later? You ok?>

Bucky sighed. He had forgotten she had a big project she was working on that month. <Of course. I was just bored.> he sent back, not wanting to worry her. He would tell her later, he promised himself.

Natasha’s response was quick this time, <Thx love you>

Bucky turned the TV on and flipped through the channels, but couldn’t find anything to watch so turned it off again. With nothing to distract him, Bucky’s thoughts drifted easily back toward the interview.

There were whole sections of his life that Bucky either actively didn’t think about, or honestly didn’t remember all that well due to depression fucking up his memory. The dark times that Bucky had suffered during and after the recording of their album, ‘Tales of Suspense’ was one of them. After all, that period contained Bucky’s biggest fuck up to date: failing Sam. Sam, who had been steadily drinking more and more till he was blacking out every night, and missing practice and recording sessions. It wasn’t like him, but Bucky had been under a lot of pressure from the studio to record the album and he had just let Sam slip, slip far enough that the band had almost broken up because of it.

Once Bucky got his head out of his ass and decided to confront Sam, Sam stopped drinking immediately. Just like that. God, what an idiot he’d been to just ignore his best friend, his brother, falling apart in front of him. Such a fucking idiot.

Bucky shook himself then, trying to dislodge the thoughts and distract himself from the downward spiral as he had yesterday when he played his bass, but his thoughts kept cycling back.

_The park would have been fun. Parks are great. Parking in Style is a great song. Sam loves that song. I failed Sam._

_I’d love to visit Egypt. Egypt is a desert. I’m thirsty. Sam’s drinking almost ended the band and it was all my fault._

Bucky scratched at his beard, at first idly, but then a bit harder, trying to ground himself in the moment. He tried as hard as he could to not drop back into dwelling on the past, and when he kept failing, he got more and more annoyed at himself, which caused more self-loathing. Then he got annoyed at the self-loathing, then tried to stop, ad nauseam. _What a fucking vicious cycle,_ he thought, frustrated.

His thoughts drifted once again to the past, and this time nothing could pull them away. Jesus, anyone could have seen how Sam was struggling, why didn’t Bucky say anything? Why did it take Sam fucking _bleeding_ to make Bucky care?

And for that matter – why could Sam handle it all with a smile on his face, and Bucky couldn’t handle even thinking back to his behavior before that fateful night? Even Steve, who was so open with his mental struggles, baring his soul through his lyrics every night, seemed to be totally fine now. Was Bucky that fucked up that he couldn’t let this go? That the thought of his failures then entirely warped how he felt about life now?

The two years since Sam had stopped drinking had been hard on Bucky. He’d blamed himself completely and entirely and sunk into a deep depression, but he hadn’t let on to his friends how bad it was. There were long periods where he had contemplated suicide on an hourly basis, but growing up in a traditional Catholic family, mental health just wasn’t discussed the same way it is in, say, L.A., so he just didn’t mention it. Steve suspected, Bucky was sure, seeing as Steve had suffered from depression at various points in his life as well, but Bucky felt so horrendously at fault for Sam that he couldn’t risk talking about it with even those he held closest. Because what if they knew? What if they knew it was his fault and all these years they’d known it, and just got on with life and tried to forget it was all his fault that the band almost ended right there and then? And what if Bucky had told them about his ensuing depression and they’d known for sure that Bucky wasn’t fit to be part of the band, even part of their lives.

Fuck, he wasn’t even fit to be in the band now. American Captains was no place for a coward who couldn’t own up to his faults even three years later to the two men he considered to be his brothers, his family, his purpose, his everything.

Sam had always been stronger than he was. So had Steve. And here was Bucky, weak and tired, not even able to win a fight against his own motherfucking head.

Bucky curled up on his side, feeling like his thoughts were overwhelming him too much to stay sitting. He stayed in that position as the light from the window faded, as he heard the boys get back and go into Sam’s room together, as his phone buzzed with texts. His mind was finally blank, a hum of static filling his thoughts, nothing else was there, just the static. He could handle that.

Bucky heard Natasha’s ring tone then and, not wanting to worry her and be the cause of even more pain, picked up. God, he was pathetic.

“Hi,” he croaked.

“James, what’s wrong?” Natasha sounded worried. _So much for not worrying her, Bucky. Pull yourself together._

He coughed for a minute, trying to dislodge the phlegm, but instead of clearing his throat, the coughs just dragged against the back of his throat like sand. “Sorry, this cold is the worst.”

“Sounds like you could use some tea, and rest. Are the boys looking after you?” That was the deal after all. On tour, the three of them were together in every conceivable sense: physically, emotionally, and sexually. Off tour, the sexual component of their relationship faded away, and they were all firmly with their wives. Steve had been with Peggy since junior year of high school, Sam had been with Jessica from freshman year of college, and Bucky had been with Natasha from senior year of college. All three women knew the score coming in: that the boys had been casually together from sophomore year of high school, and that wasn’t going to change, and luckily all three had stayed, being secure in the knowledge that there was enough love to go around.

“Yeah, of course,” Bucky said hoarsely. “I just need some sleep, and to hear your lovely voice.”

“Psh, cut the flattery.” Bucky could hear the smile in her voice now. _Bucky: 1. Worry: 0._

Natasha continued, “What time is it there? Do you think you could sleep now? Maybe get Steve to sing you to sleep?” With his regular insomnia, Bucky needed Steve to sing him to sleep once or twice a week, on and off tour. Natasha never minded, and often was the one to call Steve when Bucky wouldn’t stop tossing and turning.

Bucky smiled, sadly, “Steve’s got better things to be doing, babe.”

“Like what?” she demanded. _Fuck. Bucky: 1. Worry: 1._

“Like getting me cough medicine,” he improvised. He had to get off the phone quickly before he blurted out more and she figured out what was really going on.

“Hmm, well, okay,” she still sounded a bit dubious, but willing to play along for now. _Thank fuck_.

“Speaking of, they’re coming back now, so I better go, okay?” Bucky was so glad Natasha couldn’t see him. He was an awful liar, and could never hold eye contact long enough to look sincere.

“Okay, James. Call me tomorrow and let me know if you’re feeling better. Text if your voice is too bad. You know I worry.” Natasha trailed off a bit sadly.

Bucky signed internally. _Just another thing to feel guilty about_. Out loud, he said, “I know. I love you.”

“I love you, too. So much. Feel better, baby.”

She hung up then, and Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to cry. All he wanted was someone here, Natasha, or Sam, or Steve, to hold him, and tell him it would be all right. In lieu of that, he pulled the hotel bed coverlet over himself, wrapping it around his body, as if he could ward off the negative thoughts with pure determination and a probably disgusting hotel cover. Without taking off his shoes or glasses, he lay there until he slipped into a fitful sleep.

Bucky woke some hours later, gasping at the dream he’d just had. His heart was still pounding and he tried to breathe normally. He’d dreamed he was drowning in a giant lake, being pulled deeper and deeper underwater by a heavy weight on his legs, and that he’d looked up and saw Sam and Steve above the water, watching him and doing nothing.

It felt like it took an hour, but his breathing finally slowed down, and he calmed enough to realize that he was sweating all over, probably due to going to bed fully clothed, like a dick. _Can’t even go to sleep properly_.

He struggled out of the cover, and pulled his clothes off on his way to the shower. He had to stop half way there to have a coughing fit, and by the time he made it into the shower he was freezing. A fever was just what he needed to top off the shitfest of the last two days.

Once he got the shower on, Bucky stood under it for as long as he could, only halfheartedly scrubbing himself with soap at the end. The water felt good to his fevered skin, but it also made him keep flashing back to the dream with all that water, so he eventually stepped out.

The towel felt rough against his skin, but in a good way, like a pleasant reminder that he was here, safe, in this hotel room, and not drowning. Speaking of drowning, he could really use that imaginary cough medicine he told Natasha about earlier since he felt like he was about to drown in his own phlegm.

They were in . . . _Illinois? Was it Illinois? Did Illinois have overnight pharmacies?_ _Probably not_.

He tiredly pulled a pair of, hopefully clean, briefs on and stripped the coverlet off the bed before climbing back. This time he only pulled the sheet over himself, and was asleep again in seconds.

***

“I can hear your phone ringing in there, asshole! Open the door or we’re assuming you’re dead and knocking it down!” The shouting outside Bucky’s door penetrated the fog of Bucky’s dreams. He blinked slowly, trying to make sense of the yelling, the banging on his door, and his phone ringing all at once. His mind felt like cold molasses, slow and sticky and unwilling to stay in one place.

_Door. Steve sounds. Worried? No, probably mad. Where even am I? Illinois, fuck._

Bucky struggled to his feet and tripped over the coverlet he’d left in a heap on the ground last night. The thud he made falling over was apparently enough proof of life that Steve stopped banging and yelling.

“You okay in there?” That was Sam now. Bucky let his head rest on the floor for a moment, gathering up his strength to stand.

It was a herculean effort to stand, but Bucky did it. He walked the few steps to the door, this time without incident, thank fuck, and opened it. He immediately squinted against the harsh light of the corridor compared to the darkness of his room.

“What?” he croaked.

Steve and Sam both looked momentarily shocked. “‘What’? He has the nerve to ask us ‘what’, Sam,” Steve said genially to Sam.

“What nerve indeed, Steve,” Sam was facing Steve now and sounded overly polite. “Maybe he didn’t hear his phone? Maybe he didn’t hear us yelling? Maybe he didn’t know we thought he might be missing?”

Bucky sighed. When he was in a good mood Steve and Sam’s hamming it up made him laugh, but now it was just irritating. He coughed into the hand not holding the door open then said more emphatically this time, “What. Is going on.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at Bucky in confusion, no longer the mixture of amused and exasperated he was before. “Seriously, Bucky, what the fuck? It’s past 4. We were supposed to be at the venue twenty minutes ago.”

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned, drawing the word out as he turned into his room.

Sam and Steve followed Bucky into his room. “This place looks like a hurricane hit it,” Steve noted.

Bucky was fumbling through his suitcase trying to find something to wear when he heard Sam say, “Here.” He was holding a pair of Bucky’s jeans.

“Thanks,” Bucky said. His throat hurt like a motherfucking bitch.

Sam was still standing very close to him when he said, “Why didn’t you tell us you were sick?”

Bucky pulled his jeans on and focused on doing up the fly so he could avoid looking at Sam when he said, “Didn’t realize it was this bad.” The last thing he wanted was Sam noticing that he was upset on top of being sick.

“So you thought avoiding us was the way to go? Darcy almost had a heart attack when you didn’t come down to the bus or answer your phone,” Steve said. He was making the bed, Bucky noted fondly.

Now that Bucky was dressed, he said curtly, “I’ve been asleep since last night, it’s not a big deal.” He saw Steve and Sam exchange a glance, but was too tired to interpret it. “Can we go?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. Bucky thought he heard Steve mutter something like, “not a big deal, my ass” but he ignored it and put on his coat.

Sam grabbed a scarf from Bucky’s bag and wrapped it gently around Bucky’s neck. “Don’t want you getting even worse, now, do we?”

Bucky smiled at him, and pecked him on the cheek.

***

Bucky was dreading the show. He got through sound check through sheer force of will, but after he was completely exhausted. All he wanted was a cup of hot tea and to sleep for a week and maybe to go back in time and stop Sam before he got to the point of drinking and blacking out every night. You know. Achievable things.

Time passed quickly while Bucky zoned out. Someone did, apparently, get him a cup of tea at some point as he had an empty cup in his hand. With a sigh, Bucky put the cup down and stood up, stripping his shirt to get ready to head onto stage.

Sam and Steve were watching him from where they were putting in their in ears and getting their wires taped to their backs. Bucky summoned up a smile for them. Getting sick was a hazard of touring, and there was usually at least one member of the crew or the band sick at any one time, so Bucky wasn’t really sure why they looked so concerned.

It wasn’t right to start a show feeling separate, Bucky knew, so he made the effort to pump himself up and head over to the guys, smiling. “Ready boys?”

The others grinned back. “Ready,” said Sam.

“Got an armadillo down my trousers, so I’m ready,” Steve said.

Bucky laughed. Spinal Tap references never got old. “Let’s boogie, then.”

They walked up to the stage together and grasped each other in a tight hug before walking on stage.

Bucky still felt miserable physically, but he felt much more settled, even after just a few words with his boys, and just as he hoped it would, the adrenaline kicked in the moment he stepped on stage. The roar of the crowd was astounding, as it always was, and Bucky was more than ready to go.

Steve had thrown up on stage four times, and Sam twice, both keeping playing after, and neither of them had ever been too sick to not perform at all. Bucky clung to that thought as it became progressively harder to sing past the hot and scratchy feeling in his throat.

All of a sudden his voice cut out. It was just gone, mid ‘woah’ in Atlas. Bucky actually didn’t realize at first, caught up in the moment, loving hearing the whole crowd singing the ‘woah’s with him and Sam as Steve shredded on his guitar. This had never happened before, and Bucky frantically considered the pros and cons to mouthing along as if he were still singing. He’d look like an idiot if people could tell he wasn’t singing, but they probably wouldn’t be able to tell, right? Decided, he kept mouthing along till the end of the song, and hoped no one noticed.

Steve glanced his way between the final lines of the song, which Steve, thank god, sang alone, but Bucky couldn’t tell if that was a normal check-in, or if he’d noticed Bucky not singing.

Next up was Commie Smasher, with no pause to change instruments, so Bucky didn’t have time to tell anyone about his voice even if he could physically do so. The start of Commie Smasher was really easy, so Bucky had a vague idea of telling Luke, their touring guitarist and backup vocalist, to sing his parts for him, but of course, _fucking idiot_ , he couldn’t talk, so Luke wouldn’t be able to tell what he wanted him to do. _Jesus fucking Christ_. He’d have to wait for a pause between songs so that he could get his hands off his damn bass and use some sign language to get his message across to Luke.

Luckily the backup vocals in Commie Smasher were easy, and he and Sam sang the same bit, so no one would notice Bucky not singing.

There was a tiny break between Commie Smasher and Human Torch? for Bucky and Steve to switch instruments, so Bucky swung the new bass over his head as quickly as he could and hurriedly communicated with Luke that he couldn’t sing so Luke would have to take over.

Bucky didn’t have time to make sure Luke had gotten the message before Sam kicked them off into the next song, so he just had to hope. Bucky looked back at Luke during the first “I’m a fire and I burn tonight” line and was pleased to see Luke singing his part.

Luke noticed Bucky looking and nodded at him. _He got the message then, good._

Bucky kept up the charade of singing then, but as soon as Fear Itself started with its more exposed singing from the start, he could see that Steve and Sam had caught on to what was going on. Steve sang the first lines facing toward Bucky with a questioning look on his face.

Bucky mouthed “I’m fine,” at Steve, then twisted back to do the same at Sam. They seemed to listen to him because the show continued on as normal. Bucky stopped trying to mouth along to his parts then. There wasn’t really a point since he was barely making a sound, and Luke seemed to have his parts covered. The lovely people of Chicago didn’t come to hear him wheeze in the background of Steve and Sam’s gorgeous voices. And, really, it wasn’t like Bucky’s parts were hard to cover, his backup vocals were always the melody while Sam sang the harmony above him.

Everyone knew Sam was a better singer than Bucky. If there were a part that needed singing, Sam would do it nine times out of ten. On good days, Bucky thought he brought a certain panache to his parts both on the record and in live shows and was happy with what he could contribute. On bad days, Bucky didn’t see why Sam didn’t just sing all the parts. Bucky was superfluous, really. He thought back on an interview that asked them all what organ they were. Steve said he’d be the heart, which was right. And Sam said he’d be the lungs, because he was a breath of fresh air. Funny, and also right. And Bucky said he’d be the appendix because you didn’t really need it and could get by without it. Which was right.

Despite reassuring them he was okay, Bucky could feel Sam’s eyes on his back often throughout the show. Sam liked to call it a ‘twixth sense’ because Steve often complained that they were brain twins, and Sam liked to think he was funny. Sam wasn’t funny, but that _was_ what it was like sometimes, the two of them always seeming to be aware of each other even when they couldn’t see each other – it had been like that from the start.

Bucky shot Sam a look over his shoulder, _stop it_.

Sam glared at him, then rolled his eyes to the sky, looking as if he were praying for patience. When Sam’s eyes once again locked onto Bucky’s, Bucky rolled his deliberately. Sam laughed, and finally looked away.

The two of them had the same kind of non-verbal communication during every show about stupid things like Sam making fun of Bucky getting his hair stuck in his mouth, or the time-old argument of who was rushing the rhythm. Bucky maintained it was always Sam. Sam maintained that he was practically perfect in every way so it couldn’t possibly be him. And Steve maintained that they were both idiots and neither of them was rushing.

After he stopped singing, and stopped pretending to sing, Bucky actually felt a bit better, and he finished the show on a high. Sam immediately pulled Bucky into a hug when they stepped off stage, then pushed him back, holding Bucky by the shoulders and shaking him lightly. “What the fuck, Bucky?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky said, or, well, tried to say. When that didn’t work, Bucky blew air hard in Sam’s face and then grinned.

“Oh, now it’s on!” Sam cried as he wrapped an arm around Bucky’s neck and pulled him down to give him a noogie.

Steve crashed into the both of them, and they all went sprawling across the floor, laughing. When they managed to stop laughing and play-wrestling, they got back to their feet and Steve asked, “You alright, Buck?”

Bucky smiled and nodded.

“Good,” Steve said, glancing quickly at Sam then back to Bucky. “Thank fuck it’s the last show for a couple of weeks, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. He raised his eyebrows slightly at Steve in a look that disappeared too quickly for Bucky to identify.

That should have been it: a good end to a shitty couple of days. But luck never had been on Bucky’s side, _except for the whole meeting Sam and starting a kickass band thing_ he reminded himself.

The adrenaline rush he’d had during the show left him as soon as he got back on the bus and his mood crashed, leaving him an exhausted, sore wreck, waiting to head back to the hotel.

Luke came up to him and said, “Great show! I don’t think anyone noticed you not singing!”

And wasn’t that just a smack in the face of his self-confidence. No one noticed if you were there or not, Bucky. You aren’t needed in this band, Bucky. What the fuck are you even doing here, Bucky.

Bucky summoned up a grin from who even knows where and gave Luke a thumbs-up. He didn’t need to worry Luke with all his issues. God knows he was already a burden to Sam and Steve who he could see were worrying about him from the other end of the bus. A burden to his best friends. Unnecessary to the band. Just a waste of space really. Awesome.

***

Bucky flew out of Chicago as early as he could the next morning. He had to get home and wasn’t willing to wait to take the bus back with everyone else. It was hurting too much to keep up the facade of being okay, and he just needed to get home and curl up in bed for the next two weeks and not see anyone besides Natasha.

He texted Sam and Steve as his plane was boarding to let them know where he was, because he was too much of a coward to tell them face to face. They’d track him down soon enough when they were all back home in Brooklyn, but for now Bucky needed a few days to get his head on straight. _Just a few days and I’ll be fine_.

The flight attendant asked him to turn off his phone and he did, shutting his eyes right after. When he opened his eyes again the plane was taxiing in Brooklyn.

He was home.

***

Bucky couldn’t get up. He had gotten into bed at noon after getting home from the airport and eating a quick lunch, and he’d slept till Natasha got home at 6. They had dinner, and then he was back in bed by 7.30. It was now over 12 hours later and Natasha had just left for work.

He wasn’t even in a comfortable position in bed. But he just. Couldn’t move. The tiredness felt like a massive weight covering him from head to toe. It pushed him into the mattress and stopped any thoughts about getting up from forming. He just lay there, with his eyes closed, and he didn’t even think. It was actually really peaceful.

Slowly the need to relieve himself began to surface, and steadily became more urgent. Bucky shifted one knee up and twisted his hips slightly to relieve the pressure on his bladder from lying on his front. That was better.

His phone was just out of reach from his right hand, where it sat on his bedside table. Natasha must have plugged it in to charge for him, the goddess. Seemingly with a mind of its own, Bucky’s right hand inched towards the phone and pulled it towards his face. _Thank god for fingerprint recognition._ Bucky didn’t think he could pull his phone’s code from his sluggish mind at this point.

He tapped quickly through his email, Twitter, and Instagram. Nothing caught his interest, so he just kept scrolling through. The only part of him that was moving was his right thumb, and that was good. The rest of his body was still weighed down and the thought of getting up properly seemed an insurmountable task. Scrolling through social media he could do since it didn’t require any mental effort.

There was a red circle on the top right of the icon for WhatsApp. The circle didn’t have the number of unread messages in it, which probably meant there were so many messages WhatsApp had just given up. Giving up: what Bucky and his devices did best. Bucky sighed heavily, his thumb hovering over the icon. To click or not to click. Face Sam and Steve’s annoyance/worry/whatever. Or keep ignoring it. He could just read the messages and not respond. Would that make them more or less annoyed? Maybe more annoyed at the non-response, but less worried because they could see that he had read the messages?

Fuck, this was too much effort. Bucky decisively put his phone face down on his bed. He’d try to open WhatsApp again later. Maybe after breakfast. No, breakfast was too much of a task. Maybe after a nap. Bucky pulled the covers up and over his head, blocking out the sun and the world. _What kind of loser couldn’t even read their messages? Shit._

He’d have to answer them eventually. After all it wouldn’t take them that much longer to get back to New York from Chicago. _God this was so stupid. Just answer them. Answer them. Pick up your goddamn phone and answer them. Move your hand. Pick it up. Tap the icon. Tap the fucking icon. Tap the motherfucking icon, Bucky!_

“FUCK,” Bucky said loudly. He threw off the covers with force and swung himself up into a sitting position. “Fuck,” he said more quietly while clenching and unclenching his fists. “Okay, okay, okay.”

He took a deep breath, picked up his phone, tapped the WhatsApp icon and opened the group chat he had with Steve and Sam. He didn’t let himself read any of the messages because he knew that if he did, the crippling guilt would come back and send him back into bed. He typed in <Sorry, I’ve slept nonstop since getting home. I’m feeling a lot better. Definitely just needed to be home. Hope the trip back is going okay!> and clicked send before he could rethink it. He stuffed his phone in the pocket of his pajama pants on silent so he didn’t have to look at it anymore.

A feeling of accomplishment washed over him like a cool breeze. It gave him the strength to stand up and go take care of his overly full bladder. _Look at me. Getting out of bed like a real person. I may be superfluous to the band and a terrible best friend, but I can get out of bed!_

Bucky snorted at himself. He actually did feel a lot better for the 20 hours of sleep, go figure. His throat still ached a bit, but he could talk and overall just felt like a completely different person from the pathetic mess he’d been in Chicago. With his renewed feeling of person-hood (instead of his previous state of pile-of-blankets-hood), he walked to the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of Weetabix and heaped on two large lumps of demerara sugar. He loved the crunch of the sugar even after the rest of the Weetabix got soggy - it was really pleasing in a really simple way.

The pull of his bed was strong and Bucky paused in the kitchen doorway, with his cereal bowl clutched to his chest. He knew he should eat at the dining table, or even the couch, somewhere other than bed, to reinforce to himself that it was daytime. _During the day, try to stay out of bed, Bucky_ , said the memory of his old therapist in his head.

He sat on the couch and ate his Weetabix. He did not think about what a failure he was, and he did not think about the fact that no one would notice if he were gone. When he scraped the bowl clean, he put it in the sink and even managed to wash it. This day was definitely looking up.

Outside the window above the kitchen sink, he saw that the bird feeder Natasha had set up on their fire escape had attracted three birds. He pulled out his phone to take a picture to show to her later, and the minute his phone was in front of him the Weetabix he just ate turned to lead in his stomach. The front of his phone was full of messages from Sam and Steve, and they just kept coming in.

<are you sure you’re okay?>

< Natasha said you looked awful>

<I know you like to be left alone when you’re sick, but you can’t just leave a show like that and then fly to a different state without talking to us.>

<Bucky we had to hear from Darcy that you had gone up to your room already you didnt even wait for us to come out from the back of the bus wtf>

<promise us you’ll talk to us when we get home?>

No. Nope. Noooo. Bucky swiftly turned off his phone and walked woodenly back to bed feeling the pit in his stomach get heavier with each step. His whole body felt like it was buzzing and rebelling against the thought of having to deal with those texts, and he decided that was quite enough. He climbed back into bed, pulled the covers up to his chin, and resolutely shut his eyes. He was done with today.

***

The beep of his alarm pulled Bucky from his restless sleep. It annoyed him that when his depression was at its worst, he felt completely exhausted all day but always slept so poorly. It seemed like he should sleep well since he was so tired, but life didn’t work that way.

Bucky couldn’t remember why he’d set the alarm, until he saw its name: Call Them Now.

It was hard to get anything done on days like today, and Bucky found the only way to get something done was to know the absolute latest he could do something, and wait till then. He usually got enough of an adrenaline jolt from the last-minute nature that it could buoy him up into doing it. Bucky had set the alarm as the time when Steve and Sam would be getting back into New York, so he knew he didn’t have much time to call them and head them off before they just turned up at his door.

He took a deep breath and sat up in bed, sheets pooling around his waist, and clutched his phone in his hand. _This is it, just dial before you think about it too much_ , he told himself.

“Bucky?” Even in single word, Sam’s voice was always a comfort to Bucky.

“Yeah, ‘s me. Stevie there too?” Bucky said.

“I’m here, Buck. Are you okay? We’ve been worried sick.” Steve’s voice held a note of amusement, but was mostly just worry. Guilt stabbed at Bucky’s ribcage.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry for . . .” Bucky trailed off. Not really sure what to apologize for. For making them worry? For being a burden? For??

“It’s fine,” Sam jumped in. “Just tell us you’re leaving next time, okay? We know you like to be alone when you’re sick, but leaving the state without telling us was a dick move.”

“I did, I sent a text,” Bucky said.

“Not good enough, Buck,” Steve said.

Bucky knew he wasn’t good enough already, thanks. He sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“We’re just glad you’re okay,” Steve said. “Do you need anything brought by? We’ll be back home soon.”

“No, Natasha is taking care of me. You guys get home to Peggy and Jessica, and rest up,” Bucky said, trying to sound totally okay and not like what he really wanted was a hug.

Sam sounded dubious when he asked, “Are you sure? Maybe we should just stop by for a moment to see that you’re okay.”

Sam knew him too well, as always, and Bucky could hear Steve murmuring agreement. Bucky needed to get off the phone. “What, you miss my face already? Seeing it 24/7 for the last month on tour wasn’t enough for you?” Bucky forced a laugh, hoping it sounded natural.

Sam and Steve both chuckled, and Bucky knew he was off the hook for now.

“Yeah, alright, fuck off and we’ll see you in two weeks,” Sam said jovially.

“Bye, Bu – ” Steve managed to get in before Sam hung up.

 _Mission accomplished_ , Bucky thought, as he wiggled back down under the covers and stared up at the ceiling. He felt simultaneously proud of himself for succeeding with the deception, and absolutely worthless and alone because they didn’t care enough to notice he was lying. Surely if they cared more they would notice how flat he sounded, how he hurried them off the phone, how he was obviously not okay. Scratch that. They should have noticed when he boarded a fucking plane without them. They had always travelled together, except when there was a family crisis that one of them had to deal with, or when Steve had to fly back home after his breakdown.

Flying home alone = (mental) health issues.

Easy math. Even an idiot like Bucky could figure that out, and if Sam or Steve had flown home all of a sudden, it meant there was something more than physical health problems going on.

While he was growing up, his ma told him often that it would be harder for him out in the world, making and keeping friends, because of his more sensitive nature. When he was younger he didn’t get it, because why would he be any different from Steve? They were the same, and Steve didn’t get told he would have problems with friends. Just Bucky was the freak, apparently. But as he got older, Bucky began to understand. It wasn’t so much that he was sensitive, it was that he was very empathetic and put the feelings of others, which he could so easily detect, before his own.

When he began to make friends in school outside of Sam and Steve, he noticed that his new friends didn’t seem to notice or care about his feelings. It was all just football and girls and not being bothered when Bucky couldn’t come hang out with them for whatever reason. At first he couldn’t understand why they didn’t care at all about him, but that’s when his ma’s words finally began making sense: he couldn’t expect his friends to care the same way he did. This wasn’t to say that his friends didn’t care at all, they just wouldn’t be as perceptive about hidden or hurt feelings. So, Bucky had adjusted his expectations of his friends so that he no longer expected as deep a connection as he craved.

But. Sam and Steve weren’t just friends. They were his brothers. His everything.

Weren’t they?

Earlier this year, in their first interview for their newest album, Heroes Reborn, Steve revealed that he’d sunk into a deep depression before writing the album where he doubted his ability to write at all. Steve said it cheerfully and used it to talk about the his creative process, and it made for a good interview, but Bucky had been shocked, and he could see from Sam’s tight smile, he had been too.

That was the first they had heard about his most recent depressive spell. In an interview, with Steve speaking to a stranger. They all joked that, as typical men, they didn’t talk about their feelings with each other, and to a certain extent that was true, but for Steve to not mention it to them at all cut Bucky to the core. It made him doubt how close the three of them really were if Steve couldn’t tell them privately, even after the fact, that he’d gone through another dark time.

So maybe it was only to be expected that Sam and Steve hadn’t noticed his sinking mood the last week of tour. After all, Bucky and Steve hadn’t noticed Sam’s drinking problem before it was almost too late. And then Sam and Steve hadn’t noticed his major depressive dip after Sam got sober. And then Sam and Bucky hadn’t noticed Steve’s depression while they were on break between albums. Apparently that’s just who they were now. People who shared a band, but didn’t share anything underneath the surface.

Bucky gasped as he tried to hold back tears. He was so wrapped up in his musings that he hadn’t even noticed how close to tears he was, but now a sob broke loose. He didn’t try to keep the sobs in after that, just let himself cry until he fell into an uneasy sleep.

***

Apparently he had slept deeply, as the next time he woke it was to Natasha getting out of bed the next morning.

“Morning, James,” she said softly.

Bucky knew that she would let him pretend to be asleep if he needed to. A huge love welled up within him, and he opened his eyes. “Morning.”

Natasha smiled down at him, and brushed a soft hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. “Promise me you’ll get out of bed today?”

“We’re off for two weeks,” he said.

“Pull the other one,” Natasha said as she turned to her dresser to get her work clothes out.

Bucky grinned slightly at that. Natasha always knew just when to push him, and when to let him get away with things. “I got out of bed yesterday.” He watched avidly as she took off her nightshirt, still turned away from him.

“Mmhmm,” she hummed dubiously. “And how many hours were you actually awake yesterday?”

Reluctantly pulling his eyes from his wife, Bucky groaned and dramatically threw an arm over his face. “Enough?” he tried.

Natasha chuckled, “Not enough. You’re not getting out of this because you’re cute.” She lifted his arm from his face and leaned down to kiss him briefly, then pulled back to look him in the eyes steadily. “You are very cute,” she said softly.

Bucky smiled. “You’re cuter.”

“You,” she said, smiling still.

“Me,” he agreed, smile fading as he remembered what an awful person he was. Goddamn depression always rushing in when he least expected it.

“Stop that,” Natasha said sharply, following his thoughts as ever. “I have to get to work now, but I’d really like it if you brought me lunch today. Can you do that?” She had his chin in a light grip now, forcing him to look up at her.

“Yes,” Bucky said. “I can do that.” Part of him felt a bit like a child who needed someone to tell him what to do, but a bigger part was glad that he had someone who cared enough to help give him structure when he needed it. It was something that Bucky and his therapist had worked with Natasha on, so that she could support him when he needed it.

“Good,” Natasha said. “You’re going to get through this, James, and I’m going to be here for you every step of the way, just like always.” She kept eye contact until he nodded, then let his chin go and stood up. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Bucky said back. He smiled as best as he could as he didn’t want her feeling guilty for leaving him there. This wasn’t entirely successful, he could tell, but it was all he could offer at the moment. He would be better later. He’d set an alarm and get her lunch and be better later. After he’d slept a bit more.

***

Bucky didn’t make it to lunch that day, but he did make it to the settee, which he considered an achievement.

After Natasha left, he fell back to sleep and didn’t wake till after 2. He dragged himself to the couch by way of the bathroom for necessary business and then the kitchen for a pack of Ritz crackers. An afternoon of mindless TV sounded exactly what the doctor ordered.

Before opening the packet of crackers, he made himself text Natasha a quick sorry for missing lunch. He knew she would understand, but the shame of not being able to leave the house to meet his wife for lunch was overwhelming. And he called himself an adult, fuck.

Text sent, he carefully opened the crackers, changed the TV to Cupcake Wars, and settled in for the foreseeable future.

***

Two weeks passed much too quickly, as days on break always did, and blurred together into a haze of lying about either watching TV or listening to music and feeling sorry for himself.

Bucky was washing his face one morning when he realized with a start that it was the day before they were heading off to Baltimore for their next string of shows. They had basically finished their tour of the States, hitting over three dozen venues, but because of scheduling issues, their last few shows in Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York had been pushed a bit after the others.

“Jesus,” he said aloud, looking at his dripping face in the mirror. “Way to waste two weeks, you useless fuck.”

He roughly scrubbed his face dry and then strode purposefully into his room. It was quick work to shove all of his now clean, _thank you Natasha_ , clothes back into his usual tour bags and once everything was packed, he looked down at his bags, and said, “Right.”

Enough was enough. He’d wasted two weeks wallowing in his guilt about Sam’s drinking and Steve’s depression, and now he had to move on. Realistically, Bucky knew he couldn’t completely wipe the thoughts from his mind, but he was trying his best to be optimistic. He could do this. He could see Sam and not think about how his own lack of action almost ended the band. He could see Steve and not think about how close they came to losing him, no thanks to Bucky.

That was the plan, then. Deceive the two people to which he felt closest in the world. Hide his depression. Don’t become a burden to them. Keep them from realizing what an utter screw-up he was. Convince them that they still needed him even though he was nowhere near as talented or necessary to the band as they were. Easy.

 _Just keep a grin on, play your goddamn parts, sing your fucking lines, be a motherfucking adult_ , he told himself firmly. _No one will notice_.

***

“BARNES!” Sam yelled from the tour bus the moment the door opened in front of Bucky’s house. He and Steve were both hanging out of the door smiling widely at Bucky.

Bucky couldn’t help smiling back. Depressed or not, he would always love his boys. He waved and yelled back, “STAM!” which they had decided was Sam and Steve’s couple name one, very high, afternoon. Bucky held up a finger to them to tell them to wait, and turned back to Natasha, who was waiting with him on their building’s front steps.

Natasha hugged him hard, whispering in his ear, “You’ll work whatever this is out with them, I know you will. Remember they love you just as much as you love them.”

Bucky squeezed her back, murmuring, “Thanks. I love you.” He pulled back to kiss her, and then went to pick up his bags.

Natasha whacked his butt as he straightened and yelled, “Have fun, boys!” with a lascivious wink.

Sam and Steve laughed from the bus and Bucky rolled his eyes fondly at her.

“Love you,” she said, just for him.

With that, Bucky straightened his shoulders, resolved to his plan of going on like nothing was wrong, and walked to the bus, letting Sam and Steve pull him up the stairs and into a hug as the bus pulled away from his house.

***

Bucky was worried he would be found out somehow.   and the whole next leg of their tour would be Sam and Steve tiptoeing around him awkwardly. But the bus rolled on, through New York, through Delaware, and into Maryland, and the boys just carried on like they always did: talking about baseball, playing video games, and smoking up.

The weed was just what he needed to settle him down, and the afternoon flew by. The Royal Farms Arena in Baltimore was as impressive as ever, and during sound check, Bucky marveled at the fact that he got to play here. He, a little nobody from Brooklyn, got to play in front of thousands and thousands of people every night. All of a sudden a flash of fear gripped his throat. What was he even doing here? Steve and Sam had enough talent to play in arenas like this, but what was Bucky doing here? The deadweight, just hanging onto their success.

The fear was very short-lived, and as soon as his shoulders relaxed back down, Bucky found himself looking forward to the show, as he always did. The excitement built as Sam and Steve grinned fiercely at him across the room where they were getting ready, and it continued to build as they hugged tightly, as they did before every show, and walked on stage. The energy from the crowd was a rush, and Bucky let it carry him away from himself. He wasn’t depressed, he wasn’t freaking out, he was just riding the wave of adrenaline and excitement and nothing would bring him down.

During this tour, he and Steve had decided that during their song, The 26th, Bucky and Steve would share a mic for the call and response section. On a good day, Bucky loved it: loved being so close to Steve, loved being drawn into Steve’s manic energy, loved showing off to Steve. But on bad days, Bucky dreaded it so much that it ruined his enjoyment of the songs leading up to it.

Up until Standoff! faded, and The 26th was due to start, Bucky had been actually looking forward to his moment in the spotlight. This was exactly what he needed to help boost him out of the depression hole he’d been in for the last two weeks. Steve’s approving smile and the roar of the crowd at the change from routine was always such a burst of confidence, and God only knew how much Bucky could use that.

But this was Bucky’s life, so of course he fucked it up. He came in on Sam’s part. Not just on Sam’s part, but a half second behind. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Steve was a consummate professional and of course he didn’t even give Bucky a second glance to indicate how badly Bucky fucked up and what a failure Bucky was. But Bucky felt it all the same, felt the shame rush over him, making his face hot, and his shoulders tight.

He managed to sing and play the rest of the song, and for the last bit of the song after the shared lyrics section, he stood at his microphone, not looking over at Steve, and definitely not back at Sam. Bucky focused on breathing steadily and just getting through it. He recalled his therapist’s words: just take it one day at a time, and if he couldn’t do one day, then one hour at a time, or even one minute at a time. He could make it through this song, just this song. He could do it.

As the last note rang out, Bucky heard Steve joking with the crowd, “Your breath smelled delicious, Buck.” His voice floated over to Bucky as if through a tunnel.

Bucky could barely hear anything over the rush of blood through his ears as he struggled to get past his mistake, but he recovered just enough to quip, “Your breath tasted delicious, Steve,” and the crowd chuckled appropriately.

The song after was Blue Spaders, which had always been one of Bucky’s favorites. He consciously pushed his fuck up to the back of his mind and forced himself to concentrate on the present.

Each song he played felt a little bit better and he felt more like himself. By the encore, he was back riding high on the adrenaline, and as he walked off stage he pulled Sam to him in a brief hug, and leaned over to plant a quick kiss on Steve’s cheek at the same time.

Steve turned his head quick as a flash to catch Bucky’s lips in a brief kiss before he could move his head too far away.

Bucky smiled at him, pleased, and flushed with excitement. Reunion sex, even after only two weeks apart, was always amazing. Bucky turned his head to get Sam’s attention and get him in on the idea, but of course Sam was already with it, and Bucky caught the tail-end of a look shared between Steve and Sam. Bucky wasn’t sure what it meant, but he was quickly distracted before he could question it.

Sam took his hand from where it was still curled around Bucky’s hip and grabbed at Steve’s belt buckles, pulling them all closer together. “Wanna get out of here?” Sam asked, his voice husky from all the singing.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face. At times like these he thought they all must be so obvious to anyone around them, how wrapped up in each other they were, how close. But as ever, Bucky couldn’t bring himself to care, because what the three of them had was perfect for them, and it didn’t matter if anyone outside of them didn’t understand it. Before each of them had found their (wonderful, perfect) wives, there had been girlfriends who didn’t get it, and had to go.

The three of them separated to make walking back to their dressing room easier. They had to wind their way between various techs and equipment. The dim lights in the corridor were a strange contrast to the strobing and colored lights of the stage they’d experienced for the past two hours, and it made the moment take on a rather surreal quality.

Bucky stood with Sam outside the dressing room door as Steve quickly gathered their things. Need was pulsing through him, and he could see that need reflected back to him in Sam’s too bright eyes. Sam was tired, Bucky could tell. He sagged against the wall with his head tilted tiredly back as if his neck were too tired to support his head anymore. His eyes weren’t closed, though; they were fixed heatedly on Bucky.

“How long does it take to pick up some damn clothes?” Sam grumbled at Bucky, good-naturedly. It was a well-worn complaint, as Steve was always the one to do the last checks of any room they stayed in to make sure nothing had been left behind. Bucky and Sam were used to waiting, but that didn’t ever stop them complaining about it.

Instead of giving his standard reply of an exaggerated eye roll, Bucky retorted, “Long enough for you to come over and kiss me.”

Sam’s eyes widened a bit, and his head snapped up off the wall. He took a few prowling steps across the wide hallway to get to Bucky with a predatory look on his face. All traces of tiredness was gone. Sam braced one hand on the wall above Bucky’s head, and was leaning in towards Bucky, when Steve stepped out of the dressing room.

“Hey! You two! Get a room,” Steve said, as he hip-checked Sam away from Bucky. He was grinning broadly at them, but Bucky noticed Steve narrowed his eyes slightly at Sam in some kind of question.

“We would have already gotten a room, if you hadn’t taken so long getting our stuff, Steven,” Sam said. He started walking quickly towards the arena’s exit, pulling Bucky by a loosely wrapped hand around his wrist.

“I would have already gotten your stuff if you didn’t leave it strewn around like a diva, Samuel,” Steve said back in a teasing voice, as he strode next to them.

Sam barked out a laugh at that. “What – only my stuff? Not Bucky’s?”

“Nah, Bucky isn’t a diva. He’s an angel,” Steve said, smiling at Bucky.

Bucky blushed. “Stop,” he said.

“Angels fall to the floor, like they would if I were captain,” Steve sung quietly before he asked, “Are you going to fall, Bucky? Need a lift?”

“I could use one,” Bucky said. He was willing to see where Steve was going with this, as he always was willing to with one of Steve’s tangents. From the other side of Steve, Bucky could see Sam smiling indulgently at Steve, ready to get in on the antics as well.

With no further warning, Steve grabbed Bucky and lifted him into a bridal carry, continuing to walk to the exit.

Bucky let out a yelp of surprise and clutched at Steve’s neck. “Stevie! Put me down!” Bucky couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity that was his lead singer.

“You said you might fall, Bucky. I couldn’t let that happen,” Steve said, all mock-concerned for a moment before he continued rather lasciviously, “not with all the plans I have for you.”

Bucky giggled and looked at Sam helplessly over Steve’s shoulder. Sam just said seriously, “Big plans.”

***

The plans involved carrying Bucky onto the bus, telling their driver to start driving, and stripping Bucky naked in the front lounge as soon as they pulled away from the curb.

It happened so fast that Bucky’s high energy from the show didn’t have a chance to dip, and he didn’t have time to sink back into his thoughts from before the show. What he did have, was Steve’s hot wet mouth sucking bruises onto his hip bones as Bucky tried in vain to keep his balance on the moving bus.

Steve pushed Bucky onto his back on the couch, and climbed on the couch as well to lean over Bucky and continue licking and nipping closer and closer to Bucky’s cock.

Bucky strained up towards Steve, trying to get Steve’s mouth where he wanted, but Sam’s heavy arm across Bucky’s waist kept him in place. Bucky turned a needy look toward Sam, but before he could protest out loud, Sam claimed Bucky’s mouth in a deep kiss. Bucky immediately opened up for him, sighing happily into Sam’s mouth, and let himself be momentarily distracted from Steve’s too slow progress towards his cock.

The distraction didn’t last long, and soon Bucky was squirming and gasping into Sam’s mouth as Steve licked long stripes up the side of his cock, not giving Bucky what he really wanted. The drag of Steve’s tongue was such a tease of what was to come, and Bucky’s hips twitched up against Sam’s arm to try to get his cock all the way into Steve’s mouth.

Sam pulled back from Bucky’s mouth to chuckle at Bucky’s increasingly desperate noises. Bucky wasn’t even kissing him anymore, just kind of mashing his mouth against Sam’s and panting desperately. Sam turned to Steve and said, “Alright, Steve, he’s waited long enough.”

Steve smiled up at them briefly and, thank god, finally took Bucky’s cock fully into his mouth. He didn’t mess around. He just sunk down most of the way and sucked hard.

Bucky let out a soft, “Oh,” at the sudden heat engulfing his cock. No matter how many times they did this, Bucky could never get enough of the way Steve used his talented tongue to put extra pressure on the exact place under the head of his cock that make Bucky shudder all over every time.

Sam brushed a hand through Bucky’s sweaty hair and said, “There, that’s better, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed and tilted his head up to catch Sam’s mouth again, this time using his tongue to lick deeply into Sam’s mouth the way he knew Sam loved.

The sensation of being kissed and sucked off was overwhelming, and Bucky couldn’t think about anything else except the feeling of being caught between Steve and Sam and their heat.

The pressure on Bucky’s waist that kept him from moving finally let up as Sam’s arm moved and Bucky had one brilliant moment of being able to buck up into the velvety heat of Steve’s mouth before Steve’s head pulled back, almost completely off of Bucky’s cock. Bucky whined high in his throat at being denied what he wanted, and he broke away from Sam’s mouth to look down at Steve.

Steve’s head was drawn back by the grip Sam had on Steve’s hair. Bucky knew Sam liked to be in control, and usually Bucky was all for it, but he was just so desperate to come, especially after the hard show. When he was in this kind of mood, the only way to get to come was to let Sam play his game, so Bucky groaned in frustration and sank back into the couch to let this play out.

Sam smiled down approvingly at Bucky for his quick acquiescence, and he pushed Steve’s head back down further onto Bucky’s cock as a reward.

Bucky fisted his left hand in the blanket flung over the back of the couch to ground himself and used the other hand to pull at Sam’s shirt, hoping that he’d take it off. Bucky felt so exposed like this, being the only one naked, and at the mercy of the other two. Now that he didn’t have Sam’s mouth to fully distract him, his dark thoughts from the show were starting to creep back into his consciousness. He hoped getting to see and feel Sam’s impressive chest would stop the depressive thoughts from invading again.

Sam took the obvious hint and let go of Steve’s hair briefly to take his shirt off. His eyes crinkled at Bucky as he asked, “Better, princess?”

Bucky was about to say yes when Steve all of a sudden took Bucky’s cock all the way down his throat and he swallowed around Bucky’s length. Bucky let out a strangled gasp and his right hand shot out to grip Sam’s bicep tightly.

After another swallow around his cock, Sam directed Steve’s head up and back down quickly now as he sensed Bucky getting close. Sam bent his head to suck at Bucky’s hard nipples and the feeling of Sam’s beard scraping roughly over his sensitive nipples combined with the intense suction of Steve’s mouth sent Bucky falling over the edge.

Bucky came with a groan, and the intensity of his orgasm made him almost black out for a second. He blinked the stars out of his eyes and looked down at Steve, and he saw his come dribbling out of Steve’s smug smile. Bucky shuddered a bit at the sight.

Sam used his grip on Steve’s hair to pull Steve up to meet him in a kiss, and Bucky could see Sam’s tongue darting out to clean the come off Steve’s lips. The thought of Sam tasting Bucky in Steve’s mouth was almost too much to bear. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he said lowly.

At that moment, the bus took a hard turn and Steve tumbled off from his precarious perch above Bucky on the couch and landed on top of Sam on the ground next to the couch with a loud, “Oof”.

Bucky watched in amusement as Sam and Steve immediately started rubbing against each other, clothed cocks pushing together at a fast pace. Their need for each other was so obviously desperate that they didn’t even stop to take their clothes off.

Normally Bucky would have climbed down next to them and started pulling their clothes off for them, but all of his tension and adrenaline from the show had suddenly left him and he lay on the couch, utterly spent. An involuntary thought popped into his head just then. _They don’t need me_. And they didn’t, really. They had both had such control over him only moments ago, and now he had absolutely no control over them, and they didn’t notice or care at all.

Bucky watched, a bit detached, as Sam rolled Steve over and bent his head to suck a bruise behind Steve’s ear where Steve was so sensitive, and where it wouldn’t be seen at the show tomorrow. Bucky saw Steve thrust up against Sam’s hips sharply as he used his hands on Sam’s ass to drag Sam closer. Bucky observed Steve pushing his hand into Sam’s trousers and Sam groaning at the feeling.

And Bucky felt. . . unnecessary.

Sam came with a shout, and Steve followed swiftly after, flipping Sam over so that he could rut against Sam’s hip frantically until he came. Steve slumped down on top of Sam, panting against Sam’s neck. Sam petted Steve’s neck soothingly as both of their breathing settled down.

Steve raised his head a couple of minutes later and he fuzzily asked, “Bucky?”

“Here,” Bucky said.

“Why not _here_?” Steve said. He rolled off of Sam and reached up to tug Bucky down from the couch.

Bucky still felt quite separate from them, but he couldn’t ever refuse a request like that, so he let himself be pulled down. He dragged the blanket down with him, and settled it over the three of them.

Sam smiled at Bucky at the action, “Thanks, Bucky.” He rolled onto his side and reached across Steve to pat sleepily at Bucky’s side.

***

The sweat slowly cooled on Bucky’s back as he lay there, watching Steve and Sam sleep soundly. They both were always quick to fall asleep after sex, so Bucky was used to having some time to himself after they all came. Usually Bucky focused on one of their breathing patterns to help soothe himself to sleep, but tonight sleep would not come. He lay awake replaying his fuck up in The 26th over and over in his head.

He heard the awful wrong note in his head, how his voice had clashed with Sam’s awkwardly. How could he have fucked that up so badly? How did the others not hate him for ruining the song? How could he be so far behind the others in talent?

That’s what it came down to, really. Bucky was the worst singer of the three and had the fewest singing parts because of it, and couldn’t even handle thirty seconds of trading off singing two words at a time.

Sam played such incredibly complicated drum parts while singing so gorgeously. His powerful arms and legs moved so confidently and quickly over his drums, that Bucky always stopped and stared when they practiced together. He couldn’t help watch the beauty, power, and strength with which Sam played. And every time he marveled at how Sam could so effortlessly play a different beat with each hand, and a different beat with his feet, and sing. _Seriously, Sam, what the hell?_

Steve played guitar like a god, played piano beautifully, and sang so well that he honestly made Bucky want to weep. Mushy? Yes. But true. Steve had more talent in his left pinkie, than Bucky had in his whole body. Bucky had gotten hard more than once, just watching Steve’s deft fingers pick out an insanely complex melody on his guitar.

God, Bucky got off on watching them play. He read the term ‘confidence-kink’ on a website once, and immediately knew that was what he had. Watching Steve or Sam be so fucking outstanding at what they did got Bucky’s blood going like nothing else. It was one of the reasons he was always raring to go after a show. Sure, there was a lot of adrenaline involved, which was probably why Steve and Sam were almost always up for sex after a show, but Bucky just _had_ to get his hands on them after spending two hours watching them absolutely kill it.

His tired dick gave an interested twitch as Bucky thought about Steve fingering his guitar fast and hard, eyes alit with concentration and satisfaction as the notes he played came out perfectly. Bucky sank one hand into Steve’s hair, and enjoyed how the silky strands felt against his fingers. As Bucky looked down at Steve, he wondered if Steve or Sam ever felt the same way about him. Did they look at him and get turned on just watching him play?

 _Of course they didn’t_ , Bucky told himself sharply. There was no point in wasting time wondering about things he already knew weren’t true. There was no way they looked at him playing his stupid bass and felt the same intense lust Bucky did watching them play. Bucky was nothing to look at even at the best of times, add his pitiful singing and nothing-special bass playing, and that would be a turn-off, much more than a turn-on.

Why was Bucky even in this relationship? When he came right down to it, he didn’t add anything of value, really. Steve was the most beautiful man in any room, always, and almost always the most talented. Sam was strong and gorgeous and brave and loyal. And Bucky was just Bucky. Too scrawny, too mediocre, too fucked up.

The three of them had fallen into a relationship because of the band, and because of their deep friendship. It had just flowed so easily from childhood friends, to teenage band mates, to adult lovers. Anything one of them did, the other two followed, always. Was Bucky, then, just . . . extra? Did Sam and Steve want to start something together, but didn’t feel like they could leave Bucky out?

It was obvious that Sam and Steve didn’t get the same enjoyment as Bucky out of their sex life. How could they, when Bucky was so much more turned on by them then they were by him? Bucky had dated a girl once in high school, Hannah, who was so much more into him than he was into her, and it had been really awkward for him. He felt something akin to second-hand embarrassment whenever he was with her, and saw how needy she was. That must be how it is with Steve and Sam.

God, how did it take this long for Bucky to notice how weighted this relationship was? _It can’t continue,_ Bucky decided suddenly. He’d been so relieved when Hannah had broken it off with him, and he was sure that it would be the same for Steve and Sam. An unbalanced relationship was no way to live.

Bucky’s internal self-loathing accidentally caused his fingers to tighten in Steve’s hair, and Steve let out a little pained moan. Bucky immediately let go and petted Steve’s hair back into place, before slowly extricating himself from the tangle of limbs on the bus floor.

It was always hard to leave the warm embrace of Steve and Sam, especially when they were laid out half-naked and inviting, but Bucky needed to be alone tonight. He couldn’t think about breaking up with them with their warm breath against his neck.

Bucky shivered a bit in the cold, and with one last glance at the other two, he left the lounge area and walked back to his bunk.

***

The next morning, Bucky woke up cranky and missing Sam and Steve curled around him. He was resolved to do the right thing by bowing out, and letting the other two continue the sexual side of their relationship without him. It was a good plan. It would let him remain friends with them and remain in the band, because they wouldn’t feel like they were stuck with a Hannah who they had to get rid of.

Bucky was resolved, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it. He was actually kind of angry about it. Not at them of course, but at himself for not being good enough to make this work. He tossed and turned in his bunk and tried to force himself out of his bad mood enough to get up and get something to eat, but couldn’t. The world outside his bunk held no appeal to him. Outside the bunk, he had to tell Steve and Sam he wasn’t going to sleep with them anymore. Outside the bunk, he had to look the two people he loved most in the world, besides Natasha, in the eyes and tell them to go on without him. Outside the bunk, he was alone.

Instead of facing the world outside his bunk, Bucky grabbed his iPod from where it had been stuffed at the foot of his bunk, and put his headphones in. Bucky had every single version of every single song American Captains had ever recorded on his iPod. There were so many, that he couldn’t fit it on his iPhone, so he kept everything meticulously labeled and sorted on his iPod, and always kept it on him. It was perfect for times like this, when Bucky needed the comfort of hearing the gorgeous voices of Sam and Steve when they weren’t around.

Bucky tapped around on the iPod to get to what he wanted this morning, acoustic versions of the ‘Heroic Age’ b-sides. He turned the sound up as loud as he could stand and let the sounds of his band wash over him, pushing out any other thoughts.

Sadly, his plan of avoidance only worked for a few hours before Sam poked his head past the bunk curtain to tell Bucky that lunch had been procured and to get his ass out of bed. Bucky reluctantly went out, with the feeling of slight detachment still buzzing in his head.

Steve was sitting at the little table in the kitchen with a spread of pastries in front of him. He greeted Bucky with a rough voice, “Hey, Buck. Sleep well?”

Bucky found his raspy voice unbearably hot as it was a clear reminder of what they did last night – of what _Steve_ did last night. Bucky smiled and reached out to gently stroke Steve’s throat in apology, “Morning, Stevie.”

Steve smiled at Bucky, knowing exactly what the touch meant, and gruffly said, “Worth it.”

Bucky started eating his pastry and wondered how Steve and Sam could know him so well in some ways, but not in others. How they could know exactly what he was thinking with a simple touch, but not notice that he was drowning.

When they finished eating, Sam suggested that they finish playing the video game they started on the bus ride to Baltimore, but Bucky couldn’t stand the thought of being stuck on the small bus with them right now, so he blurted out that he had plans with some of the techs to go to a bar somewhere in Philly.

Steve and Sam exchanged a glance then, and Bucky was sick of their secret looks that never included him, of their hushed conversations that ended when he got too close, and of the way they obviously were moving on without him.

Bucky stood up and walked to the bunk area quickly. He got dressed in the first thing he found, and walked off the bus without looking back.

***

Bucky didn’t end up finding any of the techs and instead just wandered the city himself, stopping in a museum and a coffee shop before returning to the venue for sound check. He noticed a small flash of relief on Sam’s face when he saw Bucky there, and instead of that reassuring Bucky that Sam cared, all he could think was, _How dare Sam think I wouldn’t show up for my goddamn job?_ It was petty, and Bucky knew it, but it was like he barely had control of his thoughts lately. They just popped in his head whether he wanted them or not.

Bucky shook off the thought the best he could, and did his goddamn job. The show ended up being a lot of fun, and for two and a half hours he didn’t think about anything but the music and the fans.

As soon as the screaming faded after the last song, though, the feeling of unrest returned to Bucky. He knew he had to have The Talk with Sam and Steve, but he couldn’t bring himself to bite the bullet and destroy the small amount of joy he had left. So, he actually did find some techs who were going to a bar after everything was packed away, and he went with them.

Bucky stumbled back to the bus a few hours later, hoping to grab his clothes for the hotel quickly and figure out which hotel room was his with Sam and Steve none the wiser.

This plan was dashed very quickly as soon as he opened the bus door and saw Steve and Sam waiting for him on the couch in the bus, instead of sleeping in their hotel rooms as he’d hoped. They weren’t even playing a video game, or reading. They were just sitting there, in silence, waiting.

Bucky’s heart immediately lodged in his throat and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know what this was about and he imagined the worst. Were they kicking him out of the band? The panic gripped him so tightly that he managed only a shallow breath before verbalizing his fear, “Are you kicking me out of the band?”

There was an infinitesimal moment of silence that felt like an entire Ice Age to Bucky before Steve shouted, “No!”

And Sam said, “Of course not.”

And Steve said, “Why would you think –”.

And Sam said, “Bucky – what?”

And they were both talking over each other and Bucky tried to suck in deep breaths, not quite willing to believe what they were saying, but willing to stay to hear it. He took a few steps into the bus, closer to where they were now standing in the middle of the lounge.

“But,” Bucky started and Sam and Steve immediately stopped talking, “I’ve been fucking up so much lately.”

“What?” Steve said a bit dumbly. He looked at Sam in question.

“No you haven’t, sweetheart,” Sam said.

“But,” Bucky repeated. He was confused. “Is this about me going out today alone?”

“No,” Sam drew the word out, obviously thrown off. “Why would it be about that? You’re a 36 year-old man, I think you can manage to not get lost in a city we’ve been in multiple times before.” His normal humor was returning and he smiled a bit at Bucky.

Bucky smiled tentatively back. “Yeah, I’m not _you_. Getting lost in New York like a jackass.”

“Wait,” Steve said and he put a hand to Sam’s chest, like he was holding him back even though Sam wasn’t going anywhere, “Stop bantering. We need to go back to Bucky thinking he’s getting kicked out of the band.”

Bucky’s chest tightened again. Fuck, he thought he’d gotten away with switching the subject. Steve usually loved the ‘Sam and Bucky Show’, as he called it.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, as he looked back at Steve, his expression sobering. “What’s that about?”

“You haven’t fucked up, Buck,” Steve said.

“Don’t lie to me,” Bucky said sharply, and he took a step back, closer to the door.

“We aren’t, Bucky,” Sam said.

“And don’t patronize me!” Bucky’s voice was getting louder and it was like he had no control over it. Why was he telling them about his fuck ups? The whole point was to stay _in_ the band, Jesus Fucking Christ.

“We aren’t lying, Bucky,” Sam said again. He stepped towards Bucky and raised a hand to grip Bucky’s bicep comfortingly, like he often did.

That was somehow the last straw for Bucky. He shouted now, “But I fuck up all the time. I even fucked up my part in The 26th in Baltimore and we’ve been singing that since fucking 2002!”

“Bucky,” Steve said calmly, “We all fuck up. In that same show I completely skipped two lines in Time Runs Out, and you and Sam and Luke all had to compensate and follow me. If you ask me, that’s a way bigger mistake than yours.”

Bucky blinked, thrown off by Steve’s admission. Bucky hadn’t given thought to Steve’s mistake for more than a second or two after he compensated for it during the show, and then he’d forgotten about it. But surely his mistakes were bigger? It felt like his whole world had been tilted on an axis, and to his surprise he felt tears prickling behind his eyes. His “But – ,” was quiet, and he didn’t quite know what he wanted to say, just that this still wasn’t right.

“But nothing,” Steve cut in. “We all make mistakes, full stop. Nobody’s perfect, Buck.” Steve looked at Sam, obviously hoping he’d chime in.

“I don’t fuck up,” Sam said, shrugging unconcernedly.

“Sam,” Steve bit out harshly, smacking a hand against Sam’s stomach.

“What? I don’t!” Sam said, smiling now a bit. “Everyone knows I’m practically perfect in every way.”

“Bucky doesn’t need you joking around right now, Sam,” Steve said quietly.

Bucky let out a wet chuckle. “Actually, that helped. Thanks, Sam.”

Sam smiled harder at him, waggling his eyebrows.

Bucky’s grin widened.

“Fucking evil brain twins,” Steve grumbled. “Can we at least sit now? I’m exhausted.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a minute.

Bucky bit his lip and looked down at his hands, as he remembered the show in Chicago.

“What is it?” Sam asked and poked Bucky’s foot with his toe.

“It’s not just the Baltimore show. Like, I can accept that everyone fucks up. Okay? I can. But,” Bucky trails off. How did he tell them he didn’t deserve a space in the band? How had they even gotten to this? He started this conversation thinking that he was going to tell them that he thought they should have sex without him from now on, and now he was apparently going to tell them to kick him out of the band.

It all became too much, suddenly. His chest felt tight with panic at the thought of not being part of American Captains, and his head was still feeling a bit wavy from the drinks he had earlier, and he just couldn’t deal with this anymore. He stood up quickly and stumbled to the door.

“Bucky, don’t leave!” Sam called from behind him.

Bucky wrenched the door open, and turned his head briefly to softly say, “It’s the only way, don’t you see?” Then he walked out and slammed the door shut behind him.

***

Bucky barely slept that night, even with the comfort of a hotel bed. His traitorous brain kept his negative thoughts cycling through his head. Every time he thought he got rid of one, it would be like a boomerang that came back again and again and again.

_I don’t deserve to be in the band._

_Sam and Steve don’t want me as much as I want them._

_I’m in the way._

He was finally able to drift into an exhausted sleep sometime after 4 in the morning, but he woke up at 9 with a start when a thought suddenly popped into his head. He hadn’t figured out the real reason for Sam and Steve waiting up for him. _Shit, shit, shit._

What a great fucking start to the morning.

***

They had an interview that morning with the a radio station in Philly. The three of them trooped tiredly into the room, having not spoken to each other the entire ride there.

Bucky was dreading the interview, from lack of sleep and lack of confidence. He noted that Steve and Sam both seemed as tired as he was, probably from staying up talking about him. Great, another thing Bucky could blame himself for. Fuck. But they also seemed strangely . . . determined? That couldn’t be right.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at them. After twenty goddamn years of friendship, he knew what they looked when they were up to something, and this was it.

The interview started well enough, with the three of them managing to pull together some sense of professionalism and faked cheer, and Bucky relaxed, thinking he had just imagined the devious looks.

Bucky tuned out a bit while Steve and Sam were answering. He normally never did, but his head was just too full at the moment. Full of the negative thoughts, full of Steve telling him that no one had cared about his mistake, and full of Sam’s always (still?) gentle teasing.

So he was reasonably startled when Steve slung an arm around Bucky and said, “I may write it all, but I honestly couldn’t do it without these two gorgeous fuckers. I even have to have both them play in my side project, Rocketing Jet. Can’t perform my music without them.”

Bucky flushed slightly. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before, but in the face of some of Bucky’s insecurities laid bare last night, it affected him more than usual.

The interviewer laughed and asked, “So you wouldn’t play with another drummer, another bassist?”

Bucky expected Steve to laugh it off with a playful “Never!” or a “Depends on what they pay me”, but Steve just looked her in the eye and said, “No.”

Bucky lost his breath for a moment, stunned at the simple declaration that he could tell Steve meant. He wasn’t worth that much loyalty, was he?

“Same,” Sam said. “Steve is the best lyricist and guitarist I know, and Bucky is the best bassist I know.”

“Yup,” Steve agreed. “We’re a package deal, from now until the end.”

They both looked at him then, and Bucky felt a huge smile burst over his face. He looked down at his hands briefly to compose himself, then said into his mic, “Same.”

Sam and Steve smiled at him warmly, looking proud, and the warmth spread out slowly in Bucky’s chest. He felt the tightness in his chest, which had been there since their show in Chicago, unclench a bit. It was still there, but he felt like he could breath deeper now than he could in the last few weeks.

They didn’t want him out of the band. They didn’t hate him for messing up. They . . . needed him? Needed him to keep the band going, anyway, which was much more than Bucky had dared to hope.

Bucky left the interview feeling better than he had in weeks. He wasn’t back to his old self, he knew, but he could finally see a small light at the end of the tunnel.

***

The bus ride back to New York wasn’t a long one, only a couple of hours, and Bucky just knew he’d be getting The Talk that Steve and Sam had obviously been wanting to give him since the night before. They were all hanging out in the lounge, Sam playing a video game and Steve sketching next to him on the couch, and Bucky reading on the floor a few feet away, and the waiting felt like a noose slowly being tightened around his neck.

Bucky wondered if he could feign being asleep. Feign being dead?  

He was almost relieved when Sam paused his game and said, “So,” because at least the wait was over.

“So?” Bucky asked. He didn’t really want to know, but at this point, anything was better than the tension slowly overwhelming the bus.

“Steve and I have noticed that you’ve been a bit off lately,” Sam said.

“It doesn’t seem like it’s just the usual thing of being run down on tour,” Steve added. “But if it is, just tell us to fuck off, and we’ll leave you alone.”

Steve had given him an out, God love him. Bucky knew he could take it, and the other two would let this go. After all, there was a band-wide precedent for not talking about their feelings until after the fact, or not at all. But Bucky didn’t want that to continue. It was that attitude that caused this latest bout of depression: Bucky being depressed about not learning about Steve’s severe depression till after the fact, about not taking care of Sam before it was almost too late. As much as this was going to suck, he wanted to save Sam and Steve from feeling like this, if he could.

Bucky took a deep breath, and looked back at his closed book, not wanting to meet their eyes. “It’s not just tour tiredness. It’s,” he paused, unsure of how to continue.

“You can tell us anything, Buck,” Steve said after a couple of minutes had passed and Bucky had continued to just stare at his book in silence.

“I know. Well. Maybe I don’t?” Bucky didn’t mean it to be a question, but there it was.

“You don’t?” Sam echoed. “Why not?”

“You didn’t,” Bucky says, harsher than he intended.

Sam sat back a bit, and looked like he’d been slapped. “Sweetheart. That was different, I didn’t know there was a problem to tell anyone about. The blacking out just started happening, no matter what I drank – one beer or twenty.”

Bucky sighed harshly. “What about Steve, then?”

“What about me, Bucky?” Steve asked.

“We didn’t know how bad your depression was until the first goddamn interview of this tour,” Bucky exploded. “You didn’t tell us during, or even after the fact. You waited until we were in a room with a complete fucking stranger to tell us how shit you’d been feeling. How were we supposed to respond? Do you trust us at all?”

“Bucky,” Sam said.

“No,” Bucky said firmly. Now that he had started, he couldn’t stop, it was all just bubbling to the surface in a vomit of words he was sure he’d regret later. “You’re as bad as him! Not telling us you were losing time every night after drinking until you were bloody with it. And why aren’t you mad at Steve for not confiding in us? Yes, we’re guys, and guys don’t talk about feelings, but we’re a family, aren’t we? Not three fucking islands just floating next to each other, never communicating. Right?”

Bucky hadn’t realized how mad he was, and apparently the strength of his anger shocked Sam and Steve too. His fuse wasn’t as long as Sam’s who very rarely got truly angry, but it was generally a lot longer than Steve’s, so this outburst was a surprise for them all. They liked to joke that Steve was fire, Sam was ice, and Bucky was lukewarm, in true Spinal Tap fashion.

Steve sounded choked up when he broke the silence and said, “We _are_ a family, Buck, and I’m sorry for not letting you in.” He turned to Sam then and amended, “Both of you. It wasn’t about not trusting you, it was about not trusting myself.” His voice broke a bit on the last word. “When the world is that dark for me, I can’t see a way out, and the only positive thought I have is that I know that you two are okay. That I’m not dragging you into the deep fucking hole with me, like Peg. I can’t keep her from the pain of living with me during those awful times, but I can protect you.”

Bucky was stunned into silence. He had never considered it that way before. He reached out to lay his hand on Steve’s knee. “Stevie,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Steve laid his hand on top of Bucky’s and used his other to clutch at Sam’s hand. “It’s fine, Buck. I promise, I’m fine now. I wasn’t then, but I am now. Really.”

“Okay,” Bucky said shakily. “Okay.”

There was a long moment of silence then while they all processed Steve’s words. Bucky hadn’t considered that Steve would feel the same sense of isolation and darkness that Bucky felt, and that he would react in the same way, wanting to keep it to himself. In retrospect, though, of course it made sense.

“You know you aren’t protecting us from anything we wouldn’t want to experience with you, right, Steve?” Sam broke the silence with his quiet question.

“Sam,” Steve said, sounding a bit exasperated.

“No, listen to me,” Sam said, his voice gaining more strength as he went. “You said we’re a family, and as a family, we experience the highest highs together: weddings, arena tours, awards, all of that. But that means we also experience the lowest lows. That’s part of the package.”

Bucky added, “If you’re not happy, we’re not happy, Stevie. Always.”

Steve smiled sweetly, if a bit sadly, at Bucky.

Sam, on the other hand, was glaring.

“What?” Bucky asked, defensively. What had he done this time?

Sam rolled his eyes. “You don’t see anything hypocritical with that statement?”

Bucky actually hadn’t until Sam said that. “Oh,” he said dumbly.

“You have such a big heart, Bucky, you always have,” Sam said. “Always caring so hard for everyone around you, and always forgetting to care for yourself.”

“Why would people care –,” The instinctual response slipped out before Bucky could stop it.

“Stop,” Steve cut him off loudly. “Stop and think, Bucky. Why would we care?”

Bucky flushed, feeling like a child being told off for drawing on the walls. Despite the uncomfortable feeling of having to confront beliefs he held since childhood, he noted that the knot of tension in his chest he’d felt for the past few weeks had loosened even more. _This is good,_ he reminded himself.

Out loud, he said, “Because you’re my brothers, and you love me.” He wasn’t sure why, but the statement made his cheeks flush hot. A bit of shame and pleasure mixed in, he supposed.

“We do,” Sam said, and then echoed Bucky’s words back to him. “If you’re not happy, we’re not happy.”

Sam is rarely serious with Bucky, which is how Bucky likes it. His touchstone in life has always and will always be Sam, with his gentle teasing, deep dimples, and flashing mischievous eyes. So, it’s all the more forceful to have Sam parrot back something Bucky said and really, sincerely mean it.

“Sam and I have been freaking out for weeks about how to fix whatever has been going on with you. Every moment you’re not here, we’re talking to each other and to Nat, Peg, and Jess, trying to work out what to do.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Bucky said, unable to completely let go of the deep-seated belief he held that other people didn’t care about him the same as he did about them. “You shouldn’t be wasting your time talking about me.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” Sam said. “Do you think that little of us?” He looked unbearably sad, and Bucky ached to pull him into his arms and to take it all back.

Steve wrapped an arm around Sam, and pulled him close to his side to comfort him, obviously seeing exactly what Bucky did in Sam’s face. Steve said sadly, “We don’t have to worry, we just do. And of course we should be talking about you. Besides our wives, you’re the most important person in our lives.”

Seeing them curled up on the sofa together made Bucky’s heart hurt. It reminded him too much of how left out he had felt the last time they’d had sex, how left out he felt when they went off exploring in Chicago without him. “You’re better off without me, you know?” Bucky said. He wasn’t brave enough to look at their faces when he said it.

“We’re not.” Sam said, and he sounded so small. Bucky darted a quick look up at Sam’s face, and the lost look he saw there was a kick to the gut.

“Nope,” Steve agreed. “And we’ll do whatever it takes to convince you of that.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, too tried now to argue. “Can we. Just.”

Sam knew what he wanted without Bucky having to ask, and he leaned out from under Steve’s arm to pull Bucky up onto the couch with them. He settled Bucky firmly in between them, with an arm from each around his shoulders.

“You belong with us here, in everything we do, always,” Steve whispered into Bucky’s hair before resting his cheek on top of Bucky’s head.

Bucky let out a sigh of relief at the feeling of closeness he felt like he had missed for so long.

He must have drifted off because the next thing he heard was Steve and Sam whispering above him. Bucky knew he should be annoyed at them talking about him behind his back, or upset that they were wasting time being worried about him, but he just felt warm and safe. Like he was where he belonged. He let himself fall back to sleep.

They didn’t talk about it when Bucky woke up again, in Manhattan. Bucky figured it was as much emotion as they could all manage for now, and he was perfectly okay with that.

It’s not like Brooklyn was far from Madison Square Garden, but they had decided to spend one last night in a fancy hotel on the studio’s dime, so piled into the hotel, ordered expensive room service, and then fell asleep early, all cuddled together in one bed just sleeping.

***

The next day went by quickly, and easily. Their wives and families were going to be at the show tonight, but they weren’t arriving till just before the show started since it was a weekday. Bucky was looking forward to seeing Natasha so badly. They had only been texting over the last couple of days, and it already felt like too long since he’d seen her or talked to her.

Bucky was wandering around backstage at the venue, just poking around and wasting time until their sound check was supposed to start. He stumbled across a room with a few older instruments in it, and spied a double bass. Bucky had always wanted to try to play one. It was the same theory as his own bass, but obviously in a different key, and a very different shape.

He walked over to it, and wiped the dust off before figuring out how to tune it. Once he started tuning it, he realized it was actually quite easy. It wasn’t at all like the pain of trying to keep his bass in tune during an outdoor gig in the cold. This was good, simple.

Once it was in tune, Bucky started to figure out the fingering. It was more of a stretch than his left hand was used to, and the entire position he had to hold to play it felt awkward, but after not very long he was plucking out basic melodies quite happily. The mental strain of working out how to play American Captain songs on the double bass completely distracted him from anything else around him.

Bucky was playing their song Revenge when he noticed Sam and Steve leering at him from the door. Bucky was confused because what was there to leer at? He looked around the room reflexively, but it was still just him, playing the double bass.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at them and turned to fully face them. He picked up the speed of his playing, trying to get it closer to the tempo the song should be, and because he was feeling so good about figuring out the instrument, he kind of rolled his hips against the bass.

He was hoping it was sexy, but would settle for amusing. Bucky just wanted to share the good mood he was in. He and his boys were working things out, his confidence in his playing was coming back, and he was going to see his wife soon. Life was good.

Steve all of a sudden broke away from the doorway and stalked over to Bucky. He set the double bass aside and pulled Bucky by the arm to the door and out into the hallway. Sam trailed behind them, grinning at Bucky when Bucky glanced back in confusion, but stayed silent.

They passed a tech on their way to wherever it was that they were going so quickly and she said, “You guys about ready for sound check?”

Steve slowed down just enough to say, “We just need a quick break. A half hour.”

Sam coughed, “an hour” extremely obviously, and Steve smoothly said, “Actually, an hour. Terribly sorry.”

The three of them continued their march down the hall until they reached their dressing room.

“What’s going on?” Bucky asked. He was concerned they had decided to continue their talk from the night before, but before he could work himself up into another bout of angst, Steve answered.

“I’ve got a fucking hard-on the size of the Empire State Building,” Steve said. He pushed Bucky up against the now closed and locked door.

“It was inappropriate, really,” Sam said, grinning, from beside Steve. “Unprofessional, Bucky, getting Steven all worked up like that right before sound check.”

Bucky blinked. “Me? What did I do?”

“Like you don’t know,” Steve growled. He gripped the hem of Bucky’s shirt and pulled it over his head in one move. “You too,” he said to Sam.

Sam obliged and pulled his shirt off. Never one to draw out taking his clothes off, he next unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them and his briefs to the ground together.

Bucky gaped. He still wasn’t quite sure how he got here. He was just innocently playing the double bass and next he was watching a naked Sam take Steve’s clothes off. _When you can’t beat ‘em_. . . , he thought, amused. He fumbled his belt open and got his jeans off as quickly as he could.

Steve, now naked as well, pulled Bucky over to face the back of the couch in the middle of the room, and once they were there, Sam pushed at Bucky’s back until Bucky got the hint and bent over the back on the couch.

Bucky flushed scarlet when he lifted his head and realized the couch was positioned in front of a large, full-length mirror. He didn’t get a second to take it in before he felt the drag of lips against the back of his thighs as kisses were peppered up and over Bucky’s cheeks.

Bucky gasped when a tongue flicked against his hole. He looked in the mirror, but besides his flushed face, he couldn’t see the other two behind the couch. “Stevie?” he asked.

“No, babe,” Steve answered. He stood up then and moved to stand in front of Bucky, his cock fully erect in front of Bucky’s face.

Bucky should have known it was Sam, and he did, a moment later when Sam sucked lightly at the rim of Bucky’s asshole. Signature Sam move, for sure, and guaranteed to always make Bucky keen.

“Sam, I want,” Bucky tightly.

Sam pulled back to say, “More, I know. Just you wait.”

Bucky shivered violently as Sam’s licks alternated pace and strength as they dipped into his asshole. _Fucking drummer_ , Bucky thought. He craned his neck to look up at Steve, then, and asked, “Please?”

Steve smiled down at him. He had been stroking his cock idly, but at the invitation, moved forward and pressed his cock to Bucky’s lips.

Bucky took him in greedily, relishing the stretch of his jaw as he accommodated Steve’s cock, and heard Steve moan above him, “Your goddamn mouth, Bucky Barnes.” Bucky sucked as hard as he could while simultaneously losing his mind over how good Sam’s tongue felt now that it was drilling deeply into him.

Sam chose then to ease a finger into Bucky along with his tongue. His finger was so wet that it made obscene sounds as it slid in and out.

Bucky pushed Steve back by his hips just enough to get his cock out of Bucky’s mouth to curse at Sam, “Fucking hell, more damnit!”

Sam chuckled darkly, and Bucky was afraid he’d slow down just out of spite, but he didn’t, thank god. Sam pressed two fingers into him now, cold slightly from the lube, and Bucky gasped in a sharp breath. He pulled Steve back close to him with a grip on his thighs, and Steve’s cock slid smoothly back into Bucky’s mouth. He loved the feel of Steve on his tongue, so reassuringly solid and warm.

“I’ve never seen you play a double bass, before, Bucky,” Sam said conversationally, as he continued to scissor his fingers inside Bucky.

Bucky arched his back to try to get Sam to give him more, barely listening to Sam.

Sam continued, “It was so goddamn hot, wasn’t it, Steve?”

Steve thrust his cock a bit deeper into Bucky’s mouth. “Hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Steve said. “And you know Robbery is one of the hardest bass parts I’ve written? Fuck. You’re amazing, Buck.”

Now that Sam had three fingers gliding smoothly into Bucky and stretching him with just a hint of the burn that Bucky loved, Bucky’s ability to properly suck had given up the ghost. At Steve’s response, though, Bucky preened and forced himself to put some technique back into his blowjob.

Steve groaned deeply above him at Bucky’s renewed enthusiasm. “Yeah, Buck, just like that. Sucking me so well, you’re incredible.”

Bucky was starting to feel overwhelmed, but in the best possible way. Taken care of, and loved, and _oh!_

Sam pushed into Bucky then. Slowly, but steadily, filling him with the most intense pressure and heat.

Bucky moaned loudly around Steve’s cock and Steve gasped in response to the vibrations around this cock.

Steve’s thrusts became more erratic the closer he got to coming, and Bucky’s jaw was aching pleasantly at the feeling of being used so thoroughly. He could barely keep up between Sam’s deep thrusts pushing him forward, and Steve’s shallower thrusts pushing him back. This was the best part of sex with them, the overwhelming feeling of too much: too much sensation, too much emotions, too many limbs, and Bucky loved it.

Sam had slowed down now and was putting all of his force into thrusting deep and hard into Bucky. He was brushing Bucky’s prostate with each roll of his hips and Bucky was steadily moaning with the feeling.

The constant vibrations put Steve over the edge and he spilled into Bucky’s mouth. His come was bitter and hot, and rather pathetically, tasted like home. Bucky swallowed it greedily, milking Steve’s cock as it shuddered and jolted through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Steve finally pulled back, his cock sliding from Bucky’s mouth, and he sunk down to sit on the floor in front of Bucky. Steve reached up to stroke softly at Bucky’s hair, face, shoulders, and chest.

Without Steve’s hips to hold him up with, Bucky slumped down to rest his hands on the couch cushions and he let his drop forward, his muscles shaking with the release of exertion. From here he was able to lock eyes with Steve as Sam switched up his pace again, now going fast. All Bucky could do was pant as Sam’s thrusts sped up.

Sam let out a stream of filth as he thrust harder, “So hot around my cock. It’s like you were made for me, you’re so perfect and tight. You were made to take it like this, such a goddamn hot piece of ass, oh god.”

Steve kept petting Bucky as Sam continued, and leaned up to kiss him sweetly. Bucky couldn’t manage to coordinate himself to kiss back, because Sam was now nailing Bucky’s prostate with each stroke.

Bucky screamed as he came, and he shook and shook and shook. He barely noticed that Sam had slowed to a stop behind him, while Steve cupped Bucky’s face in both of his hands and dropped kisses all over his face while Bucky came down from what felt like the most intense orgasm of his life.

“You okay?” Sam asked. His voice was tight with the strain from holding still inside Bucky when he was so close to coming. Bucky knew Sam would immediately pull out and finish himself off if Bucky said he’d had enough, but Bucky wanted this.

“I’m good, Sam, g’on,” Bucky said shakily.

Steve looked away from his intense stare into Bucky’s eyes then as he exchanged a glance with Sam. Bucky had a burst of clarity then and realized that all of the subtle glances between the two he’d seen recently weren’t anything to do with leaving Bucky out, they were about making sure Bucky was okay. God, he loved them so fucking much, the mushy bastards.

Apparently Steve communicated that Bucky really was okay to Sam, because Sam began thrusting into Bucky again.

Bucky gasped at the feeling of Sam’s cock dragging in and out of him started up again. It was on the verge of being painful as he was over-sensitive from his orgasm, but it felt so, so good. The good feeling got even better when Bucky regained the energy to kiss Steve. He slid his tongue in and out of Steve’s mouth at the same pace as Sam’s thrusts, and felt Steve smile against his lips, knowing exactly what Bucky was doing. _Twythm section, indeed_ , Bucky thought happily.

Sam shuddered to a stop suddenly, groaning loudly as he came hard. “Fuuuuuck,” he said.

Bucky looked over Steve’s head at the mirror he’d forgotten about and shivered at the sight of Steve’s sweaty back muscles flexing as he crouched in front of Bucky, and let out a small moan at the sight of Sam’s strong arms bulging at the effort of holding Bucky’s hips where he wanted them. As Bucky lay there, feeling Sam’s cock twitching inside of him, and seeing the three of them together, he felt so right, like the cracks of wrongness of the past month were being knitted back together and his world was finally starting to make sense again.

Sam pulled out of Bucky then as gently as he could, but Bucky still winced a bit. Steve stroked his thumbs over his cheekbones, cupping Bucky’s chin in the palms of his strong hands. “Okay?”

Bucky smiled, “Okay.”

Sam picked Bucky up from behind and deposited him gently so that he was laying the proper way on the couch now. Steve crawled up to lie next to him and Sam grabbed some paper towels from the dressing room counter to gently clean Bucky up.

Once he was clean, Sam squeezed himself between Bucky and the back of the couch and slung his arm over to pull Steve over even closer so Bucky was squished in the middle.

Bucky’s chest was no longer filled by the tight knot of tension that had accompanied him the past couple of months. It was filled fit to bursting with warmth and love. He knew he had work to do to in the future with his therapist, Natasha, and his boys to make sure he didn’t get this low again, but for now, he was home.


End file.
